


I Am the Alpha

by TheLadyGoddess (LadyGoddessSephiroth)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Masochism, Rough Sex, Sadism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:05:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5464295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGoddessSephiroth/pseuds/TheLadyGoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling. [AU] When your whole world is violently taken from you, and you aren’t emotionally or mentally equipped to handle it, how do you deal? For f!Cousland, equal doses of gratuitous violence and sadomasochistic sex seems to be the answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paint the town

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning: This fic contains descriptions of rough, violent sex. If this bothers you in any way please don't read it.**
> 
> **Disclaimer: Dragon Age: Origins** characters, world presented, etc isn’t mine. I’m not profiting off of this unless you count the smug sense of satisfaction I get with the post of each chapter. You could sue me but you’d only wind up with lawyer’s fees, since all I have to my name is an empty jar of coconut oil and two socks that don’t match. 
> 
> Chapter titles are lyrics to “Then the Morning Comes” by Smash Mouth, which I also don’t own and don’t claim any rights to.
> 
> Section breaks are lyrics to “Part of Me” by Linkin Park, which I also don’t own and don’t claim any rights to.
> 
> I’m not the only person who created a character that was just downright mean for no reason, but I hardly read DA fics where PCs are actual dicks for a good reason. 
> 
> I felt like the human noble had the perfect backstory for this. Having your family slaughtered has got to do a number on you. I mean seriously. Think about it. You do not walk away from that and just go about your business, especially if you’re of noble blood. 
> 
> Nobles are spoiled, coddled, and not used to real hardships. They sit around like fat cattle and just feed and order people around (thank you Arishok, you smexy beast). So take that noble, and thrust them into the events of DA: Origins. Tell me they’d take it well.
> 
> Nope. 
> 
> When your whole world is violently taken from you, and you aren’t emotionally or mentally equipped to handle it, how do you deal? 
> 
> That is the basis for this story. 
> 
> In some places I quote directly from the game. In others I just paraphrase. I’m doing a playthrough as I’m writing this, but most of the events are altered for the sake of the fic and character development. That’s why I labeled it as an alternate universe.

The town was called “Lothering,” but she had taken to calling it “Loathing.”

It was a wretched waste of space, so crowded and oozing with fear. The ground seemed harder here, more unforgiving. The people were paranoid and lost. The refugees were disgusting: crying and whimpering, allowing others to prey on them. They huddled together according to their kind, simultaneously trying to soothe their little ones and watching out for people who might rob them.

Not much of a chance of that happening with the highwaymen’s bodies scattered at the entrance. She informed an elven family begging for money that she killed them. They went to raid their booty. She firmly shook her head and pressed onward.

“The Chanter’s Board has jobs,” Alistair suggested. “Maybe we can make some coin if we take a look.”

Morrigan said something sarcastic, but Elena was too busy staring straight ahead. She didn’t want to stay here. It was disgusting. She wanted a warm, soft bed and an estate with guards and servants to do her bidding. Being out on the road and sleeping on the ground in tents made her angry. They had to find a better place than this to replenish their supplies. They could at least go to Denerim or another major city.

Beside her, the Dog whined. She looked down at him, and for the first time since her family was slaughtered she gave in to another facial expression that wasn’t a scowl.

“I know Sam,” she smirked, rubbing his head. “They’re both useless tools.”

“Useless?!” the witch and templar repeated in unison.

“How am I useless?” Alistair wanted to know.

“A better question would be how are you not?” Morrigan deadpanned.

He ignored her biting remark. “We need coin to keep traveling,” he went on. “We can’t get supplies if all we’ve got between us is three gold. We’re not going to last long at all.”

The witch couldn’t resist the opening he’d left her. “I’m surprised you can count.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t turned into--”

“SILENCE!” she screamed. The entire town stopped and look at her, but she didn’t care. Her outburst surprised both of them enough to shut them up, which is exactly what she wanted.

“Now look Alistair. Since you’re so concerned with our finances, why don’t you go check out the Chanter’s Board?”

He blinked his pretty brown (or maybe they were hazel) eyes in disbelief. His eyelashes were so long they were startling. Every time she saw him she saw glimpses of his brother, the recently deceased King Cailan. They had similar features. Alistair kept his reddish brown (or dark blonde; she could never tell what color it really was) hair short, cropped, and fussed with it when he thought no one was looking. Under any other circumstances she would have been attracted to him. He had a rather _goofy_ personality: quick with a joke, no desire for responsibility, whiny, pouty, extremely sensitive and more than a bit emotional. She had concluded that he was _annoying_.

“By myself?” he asked. There was more than a bit of incredulity in his tone.

She ignored him. “And since you seem to think he’s an idiot that constantly needs watching, you go with him Morrigan.”

“Me?” she repeated, her dark eyes flashing. “I hardly think that…”

“Yes, you hardly think. I get that. Now both of you get out of my sight.”

Morrigan was a Witch of the Wilds, not one to be trifled with. Her dark features stood out in stark contrast to her golden eyes and sun-kissed skin. She had a wicked sort of beauty about her, the kind that was both dangerous and alluring. Her body was barely covered in her clothes; men stared at her in fear and admiration. Perhaps some of that fear should have spread to Elena, but she didn’t fear anything. As far as she was concerned nothing could scare her after the abominable snowball of fuckery that avalanched her in the past week.

Morrigan, however, was unimpressed with her fearlessness. The witch’s eyes clouded over with damning power, but Alistair grabbed her arm and dragged her off before a proper standoff could ensue. “Come on,” he muttered, leading her over the bridge and back towards the Chantry.

Once they were gone she breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“I swear, Sam,” she muttered, looking down at the dog, “sometimes I think everyone is out to get me.”

Sam got up and walked off.

Surprise registered on her face before her usual indignation and scowl set in. “Where are you going you damn mabari?”

The question sent the dog into a trot. She sighed loudly and followed after him. “You’d better be leading me to a nice warm bed,” she muttered under her breath. “Or at least a decent meal. I’m sick of eating Alistair’s cooking. It tastes like feet and rocks.”

Not that she knew what feet tasted like, but if she had to guess…

The hound stopped in front of a set of prisoner cages. All of them were empty except for one. Its occupant was something she’d never seen before. She was immediately fascinated by it.

“What are you?” she asked, her brown eyes widening ever so slightly.

“I’m a prisoner,” he answered simply. She thought he was being smug. Maybe he was. There was a scowl on his face, one not unlike her own, but deeper. He had no eyebrows, and yet he could frown. Interesting.

He was bronze. She put her hand up to the cage and pressed it against the bars for comparison. She wasn’t really afraid, a fact that sparked a hint of _something_ in the prisoner’s eyes. Her own skin was, perhaps, a medium maple syrup color at best. It was undoubtedly brown, undoubtedly dark, and undoubtedly strange, even among her people. All the other humans in Ferelden were so light by comparison.

Even more odd was the fact that her eyes and skin were the same color: the same deep, rich, earthy brown. They almost blended into each other. The only thing that stood out on her was her blonde hair, which she kept short on purpose. It made people _look_ at her, drink her in. But instead of being intimidating and off-putting, she was often described as _exotic_.  

And here he was, with the same features: dark skin and light hair. His hair was long, braided back and pulled up into a ponytail. Did he qualify as exotic too?

He was the only thing she’d ever seen with a skin color that could compare to her own. A strange basis for fascination in a normal person’s eyes, but she was not a normal person. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Not since she’d witnessed the massacre of everyone she knew and loved. Not since it haunted her every night in her dreams.

Reliving the horror made it hard to act normal. She wasn’t even sure what that was anymore. She was constantly angry, in a state of perpetual rage, hoping, wishing that something or someone would put her out of her misery. It made her reckless. It made her vicious. It made her hard to deal with.

She was always picking fights, always rushing head on into battle without a plan. But darkspawn and wolves were no match for her ferocity. Maybe this thing would be. Maybe she could provoke him. Maybe he would kill her.

“I do not appreciate being stared at human,” he announced scornfully, breaking in on her thoughts. “If you have nothing to offer me be on your way.”

“Nothing to offer you?” she repeated, staring up at him. Well she didn’t have any food or water. Maybe she could do something else for him. Maybe she could let him out.

She looked at the lock on his cage, peering into the mechanism to see how it worked. After a few seconds she reached behind her and pulled a pin and a couple of other tools out of her short blonde hair. She always kept them in her hair, just in case. No one ever thought to look there for them.

She tested the tumbler with the pin, and then with the lockpick. No good. She could pick locks but she wasn’t good enough to pick this one. “Whoever made this really wanted to keep you in here. What did you do?”

“I killed an entire family of farmers.” He said it like he was commenting on the weather.

She looked at him like he was insane.

“Why would you do that?” she asked. Flashes of finding her own family member’s bodies made her step away from him a bit. He was a murderer then. One that felt no remorse, apparently.

“It does not matter,” he answered. “I did it, and now I must pay for my crime.”

She could picture him snapping bones with his huge hands. She could picture him snapping _her_ bones with his hands, giving her sweet release. He looked more animal than man to her. He had such harsh, deep features. Maybe if she let him out...

Sam’s bark interrupted her thoughts.

“What is it?” she asked. He cocked his head in the direction of the bridge, calling attention to Morrigan and Alistair.

“Useless idiots,” she muttered, taking her hand off the cage.

“We picked up the jobs at the job board,” Alistair said as he approached her. He handed her a few sheets of paper. “Here. I’m sure we’ll get a bit of coin from each of these.”

She browsed through them, stopping at one that seemed particularly ridiculous. “Why are there bears terrorizing people?”

“I think they’re infected,” Alistair responded. She kept reading and found out he was right.

“Did you read all of these?” she wanted to know.

He was hesitant to respond to her for fear of setting her off again. But if he didn’t respond he was going to set her off anyway. “Yes. Why?”

“Get to it then,” she commanded, shoving the papers into his chest.

“Get to i-- _what_?” he said in disbelief. “Are you not going to help? You think Morrigan and I can do all of these things by ourselves?”

“Take Sam,” she said indifferently, waving him off.

“And what, pray tell, are _you_ going to be doing while _we’re_ doing the work?” There was a hard edge in his voice, one that was holding back a threat or an insult. She almost welcomed it, if only to see if he actually had a backbone or not.

“I’m going to see about this,” she said, pointing to the occupied cage.

The sight of its occupant made the templar change his tune. “...A qunari?” He seemed about as curious as she was. That was good. She refused to be denied.

“I think he can help,” she went on, though she failed to add how she wanted him to help. She wanted him to strangle her or snap her neck. She wanted him to put an end to this charade she was playing at.

The witch was put out. “You want to take this fine specimen with us to hunt darkspawn?”

“Fine specimen…?” Alistair repeated, giving her a disgusted look. “Really? You want to serve him up with gravy and wine?”

“Perhaps I do,” the witch replied, but she still looked put out. No telling why with that one.  

“All right, enough,” Elena barked, causing them both to snap to attention. “Take Sam and go work on a couple of these jobs. I’m going to go see about getting this qunari freed.”

She didn’t even know what a qunari was, but apparently that’s what was in the cage, and that’s what she wanted.

Alistair sighed in defeat. “Let’s go kill the wolves, I guess. Come on boy.”

Sam whined his discontent at leaving his mistress, but followed after him.

Once they were gone, she looked back up at the qunari. “Who has the key to your cage?” she asked.

“The mother in the chantry,” he answered. He had such a solemn, heavy voice. It matched his calculating gaze and his deep, ever-present frown.

“If I let you out, will you help me?”

“You are a Grey Warden?” She didn’t even care how he knew that. She just nodded. “Then yes. But the mother may not give you the key to my cage.”

Her features eased into a knowing smirk. “Oh yes she will.”

PART∙OF∙ME∙WON’T∙GO∙AWAY

Calculating. Cool. Calm. Composed. Confident. 

She stood before her, honey dripping from her words. Her reasoning was sound, but her voice sounded almost hypnotizing. If she didn’t know any better she’d think she was a mage in disguise.

But no. The girl was just a rogue, though a fairly well-kept one. It was obvious to her she had not been battle-tested like their dear templar who had taken charge. What was his name again? Ser...something or other.

She couldn’t remember.

“What did he do?” the girl asked.

“He slaughtered an entire family of innocents,” the mother answered. “Children too.” She recounted the tale she had been told, trying hard to shake the haze from her mind. This girl was _doing_ something to her. Whatever it was she didn’t _like_ it but she couldn’t fight it either.

“I want his key,” the girl said.

The revered mother shook her head, partially to clear the haze and partially to disagree. “If you let him out, we could be his next victims.”

“I’m a Grey Warden,” the girl pressed. “I need his help. I will take full responsibility for him if you release him into my custody.”

A Grey Warden? Really? This slip of a thing?

Well not really a slip but she was certainly no warrior. In fact, she could tell by the way the girl carried herself that she was of noble blood. What was she doing wielding a sword and running off to slaughter darkspawn? She should have been holed up in an estate somewhere making important political decisions.

These were dark times indeed if noblewomen were joining the Wardens.

“Very well,” she sighed, handing over the key. She felt a sense of relief as she did so. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with him.

EVERYDAY∙REMINDED

Fifty silver for killing the highwaymen outside of town, plus some free equipment. Maybe Lothering wasn’t so bad after all.

She put the coins in her pouch, resolving to tell Alistair what had transpired. This way he could see she was contributing. She didn’t know why he felt that was important. He put her in charge, yet he fought against her every order.

“Whiny little brat,” she muttered.

The qunari had not moved since she left. She thought to tease him with the key, but decided not to.

“The mother is releasing you into my custody,” she said as she opened his cage.

“Very well.”

“I told her I’d take responsibility for you.” She offered him a hand to help him out of the cage, but he stepped out on his own.

He was much bigger than he looked behind bars. She wondered if all qunari were that big. She almost whistled, but kept the sentiment to herself. She didn’t really like being viewed as an object. She assumed he wouldn’t either.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“I am Sten.”

“I’m Elena.”

She dropped down onto one knee and pulled her pack off of her back. She was sure they had collected some armor that he could wear. Perhaps they could sell all of the things they weren’t using so that they could get even more money. She never had to worry about coin until now. She didn’t really like the added responsibility.

She let him pick out what he wanted to wear and use. Once she had him fitted and gave him a weapon, she closed her pack back up and put it back on. There was a tavern not far from there. Perhaps they could go get something to eat. He had to be starving after being in that cage for so long.

HOW∙MUCH∙I∙HATE∙IT

They met over by the bridge leading out of town. Elena had brought not one, but two people with her. One was the qunari, and the other was a chantry sister wearing a sword and still in her robes.

“...What’s new?” Alistair asked, his eyebrows quirked.

“Here,” she replied, handing him a bit of coin. “I’m _contributing_.”

“I can see that.” He pocketed the coin, adding it to everything they made in the village from the chantry jobs. They had a few sovereign now. “And you’ve even brought along new people. Wonderful. You’re…?”

“Leliana,” the sister responded with a warm smile. She was in the typical pink robes of the chantry sisters. They were sprayed in blood. She had short red hair and a friendly, cheerful disposition.

She wouldn’t be smiling like that for long.

“Sten,” Elena responded when he looked at the qunari who refused to answer.

“ _Wonderful_ ,” he drawled, managing to curb some of his sarcasm. “I’m Alistair.”

“Now can we please leave? I’m starving and there’s no food at the tavern.”

“There’s no food anywhere,” Alistair sighed. He thought she’d understand that this place was strained of resources by now. Obviously not. She didn’t understand a lot of things that would be common sense to anyone else. She was a noblewoman. She was a _spoilt brat_.

“We can make camp once we leave,” Leliana suggested. “Alistair and I can go hunting while you rest my lady.”

Great. The sister knew she was a noble. _Fantastic_.

Alistair rolled his eyes. “She can’t just sit there and expect us to do everything,” he started as irritation tightened around his words. “She has to contri--”

“Help, please! Someone help us!”

The mabari took off first, up the exit bridge and around the corner. Elena followed, not wanting to see any harm come to her hound (and secretly hoping that someone would run her through, since the qunari clearly didn’t). Alistair and Leliana were more worried that someone was being hurt. Morrigan couldn’t care less so long as she saw some violence. Sten remained indifferent.

They dispatched the bandits, raided their bodies (that was more of Elena’s thing), and met Bodahn and his son Sandal. Having never been exposed to dwarves, she gave both of them an odd, judgmental look. But she was polite enough.

“Thank you for saving us,” he said.

The conversation went on for a minute or two. Morrigan sarcastically offered them a place at their sides, but Bodhan didn't really pick up on it. He turned them down anyway.

“No no,” he said, all smiles and pleasantries. “We’ve got enough excitement. Don’t need anymore. Thank you kind sers.”

Elena wanted to ask for a reward for their help, but somehow Alistair talked her out of it.


	2. Take a bow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the comment, hits, kudos and bookmarks.

 

Great. On top of everything else she was having darkspawn nightmares too. 

She rolled over and sat up, panting heavily. It had been so real. She had seen them, seen the dragon. It called her, making her blood lurch in her veins. She didn’t like being pulled towards something without control over the direction she was going in. She thought the power would smother her, suffocate her. She was glad she tore away from it before it went any further.

“Are you OK?” Alistair asked gently.

She looked up. He was sitting across from her on the other side of the bonfire. In the flickering light she couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. It made her furious.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, standing up. “I don’t need a nanny.”

“I was just…!”

She shook off his concern and started walking over to the water source they were camped by. She thought she heard him calling her an ungrateful bitch but she didn’t care. Bodhan and Sandal had decided to tag along, mistaking Morrigan’s sarcasm for a real invitation. And there was some other weirdo there that she didn’t know.

“Who is that?” she asked as she stopped.

Not that she expected an answer, but she got one. A rather irritated one at that.

“I don’t know,” Sten growled. She looked up at him (she practically had to crane her neck to do so) and saw him outright scowling. It was rather frightening.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

“Why have we stopped?” he wanted to know. “There are darkspawn to fight.”

What the hell kind of question was that?

“We need to rest,” she answered, crossing her arms over her chest. “And so do you.”

“I am fine,” he said after a tense pause.

“No you’re not. You’ve been in that cage for weeks. Did they even feed you? Give you water? When was the last time you ate?”

When was the last time _she_ ate for that matter? When was the last time anyone ate?

Wait, where was Leliana? And Sam?

“Alistair!” she called, stalking towards him.

The templar sighed and rubbed his temples. “What is it now your highness?”

“Where is my dog?”

He couldn’t stop his annoyance from spreading over every word. “He went hunting with Leliana.”

“Hunting with…” Oh, right. She fell asleep from utter exhaustion as soon as they had picked a spot to camp. Or maybe she had just passed out. She couldn’t really remember.

Wait, where were they even going? They did have a plan, right?

No. She told Alistair to shut up when he brought it up. She was just tired of hearing his voice and generally being in his presence.

“Where should we go first?” she asked, sitting down next to him.

He eyed her like she was a serpent ready to strike. “Oh, now you want my opinion?”

“Don’t be such a baby, Alistair,” she snapped.

“I’m not being a baby!” he snapped back. “You have singlehandedly alienated everyone here and it hasn’t even been a whole day yet!”

“How have I alienated anyone?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well, let’s see.” He started ticking things off on his fingers as he named them. “You called Morrigan a witchy bitch, you told Leliana the Maker can kiss your ass and keep her religious drivel to herself, you’ve constantly insulted and berated me since the minute we met, and I’m pretty sure that Sten doesn’t appreciate being called “it”! Although I could be wrong about that last one.”

Sten snorted in reply.

“The only one of us you haven’t alienated is the dog, and that’s probably because emotionally you’re on the same level.”

“ _You_ put _me_ in charge,” she reminded him. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She was _itching_ for him to challenge her. A fight - a _real_ fight - would have them settling this once and for all. Then she could finally wipe that stupid look off his stupid face.

“It’ll be easier for us to follow you if you stopped treating us like your servants and started treating us like your companions,” Alistair countered. “This journey is hard enough Elena. We don’t need you making it any harder.”

Leliana walked into camp then, with a couple of wild birds in her arms. She was no longer in her chantry robes, but in some light armor they had gathered while in Lothering. Sam was beside her, dragging a sackful of game behind him.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized as she neared the fire. “There’s no big game around so Sam and I got birds and rabbit instead. I hope that’s OK.”

“It’s fine,” Alistair assured her with a smile. “We’ll just roast them separately.” He switched moods fairly quickly, all things considered.

“Oh good,” she sighed, dropping the birds in the dirt. “I’ve got some vegetables too. Wild onions and bitter greens.”

Alistair grabbed a bird. “I’ll clean, you cook.”

Sam barked. He was a huge, thick hound, nearly all muscle. His fur was short, tan and covered in war paint. He looked intimidating, but he was friendly to all of their companions. He wagged his short tail and ran around in a circle, letting them know how excited he was for dinner.

“You can help too,” the templar grinned, “but no drooling on the food. No one wants to eat dog drool, even if it is cooked.”

Sam whined.

Elena got up and moved away from their little group project. The food was done in an hour, but she wouldn’t have any of it. Her stomach betrayed her when she refused, but she stuck by her decision.

“Fine,” Alistair snorted. “More for the rest of us.”

WEIGHED∙IT∙AGAINST

All Sten saw was children.

Children fighting over trivial things. Or perhaps not so trivial. Humans usually squabbled, but the boy had a point: she couldn’t keep treating her companions like they were beneath her. Not if she expected them to be successful.

She was sitting alone up against a rock, legs and arms crossed in sheer defiance. Sten was cleaning because the others had prepared and cooked the meal. The dog was helping by burying the bones and other scraps. Smart animal. It was quite fascinating.

Sten never questioned why women were not a part of the qunari military, but now he knew: they were too _emotional_. And Elena was too young, still a youth with no hint of what she was doing. She could wield a sword and a knife, but she was no _warrior_. She was no _leader_.

She wouldn’t even take care of herself. After scolding him about needing rest, the irony was not lost on him.

There was a bit of food left, enough for the dwarf, his son and the stranger to share in their meal. Even Sam had a plate, though he growled at anyone who came near it. He even bit Alistair for trying to take it. He should have known better. He was a war dog. 

Sten stalked over to the water source to clean up their dishes. Sam followed. He stopped when he reached his master, placing a plate down in front of her. _His plate_. The one he protected from Alistair. The one he never saw the dog eat from.

After a moment of being stubborn, her features softened. He could see her age now. She wasn’t just a girl, she was an untested one. Her skin was soft, unblemished, untouched. It was dark but pure. She had no scars, no nicks, nothing that showed even a hint of having adventures or a hard life.

He saw bruises but that was from their recent battles. They would fade. They wouldn’t be permanent.

“Thanks boy,” she muttered, rubbing his head.

He barked happily and sat in front of her, watching her devour her meal. She certainly ate like she was still growing.

Sten bent down at the pond to clean the dishes.

Everyone was assigned their place. She did not seem to have one, though it appeared she did have one at first. He had not seen any women that did not show any signs of hard work. Maybe she had been someone important at some time. The way she carried herself showed that she thought everyone was beneath her. She looked at each of them with disdain, especially Sandal. Only he and the dog seemed to escape her childish wrath.

He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

He took the clean dishes back to the fire to dry them out. The skillet needed to be oiled. He searched the packs to see if they had a bit of it.

He found it, but was sorely disappointed. It wasn’t enough. _Vashadan_. He couldn’t have the skillet rusted out. Now what?

“What are you doing?” she asked.

She would have startled him if he hadn’t heard her coming a mile away.

She sat down next to him with her plate. It was clean and wet; she had washed it herself. He might have been surprised if he were someone else.

“The skillet needs to be oiled,” he said sternly.

She didn’t ask why. He was grateful. He didn’t feel like babysitting or explaining things she should already know.

“Is that enough oil?”

“No.”

“Here.” She reached into her pack and pulled out a small square cloth with a letter on it. “Use this.”

“For what?” He already had something to dry the dishes with. That was not the issue.

“To oil it. Here.” She took the oil from his hand - she had such tiny fingers - and poured it onto the cloth. Then she wiped the oil across the skillet. It spread evenly, much to his surprise. That would be handy later, when they got new oil. Now they wouldn’t be so wasteful.

He looked at her. He must have been asking for an explanation with his eyes, because she readily gave him one. Or perhaps she just liked talking, like the rest of her species.

“My nana used to make me oil the pots when I was disobedient,” she explained. “I got really good at it.”

“...Nana?” he repeated, blinking. “I do not know this word.”

“She’s the person that watched me when my parents weren’t around.”

He blinked again. “Parents?” He was unfamiliar with that word too. Much of the common tongue was still elusive to him, but he knew enough to communicate efficiently. His training exercises helped, but he had yet to master the language. It was so broad and there were so many words. It added to the endless complication of learning it.

Fortunately the Warden didn’t seem to mind. They had an informative discussion about how human families worked - or at least how hers did. Sten got a headache from the information overload. She kept using words he wasn’t familiar with, words she would have to keep explaining. But in the end, he seemed to get the jist of it: Her family was important. They were leaders. She had been raised to be someone important, a leader. Now she was completely lost.

THE∙CONSEQUENCES

“It is not a matter of trust,” Alistair was saying as they stood on Redcliffe's town bridge. “...Oh wait. Yes it is. I don’t trust you. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

She was beyond furious. “You’re the rightful king, the heir to the throne!” she retorted. “How could you not want to be king?!”

Cailan was dead, and Alistair had just confessed he was his half-brother, the bastard prince that the nobles tried so hard to sweep under the rug. Unlike the nobles who looked down on him for being born out of wedlock, Elena didn’t _care._

“This is why I didn’t tell you.” He pinched his nose and shook his head. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.” 

“Understand what?” she countered. “That you’re a coward, running from your responsibility?”

“I am not a coward!” he shouted. “I am sick of my bloodline following me everywhere I go! I just want to be me! I just want to be Alistair!”

“You can’t!” she snapped. “My bloodline follows me everywhere too! We’re the last of our houses! Do you honestly think that we can just let that go?? That we can just _forget_ all the responsibility that entails, and just walk away without a fight?! How _flippant_ would that be?!”

Alistair didn’t say so, but her words felt like a knife in his gut. He’d forgotten she lost everyone she ever loved. She had to join the Grey Wardens, but now she couldn’t even continue her own family line. She hadn’t really even had time to grieve. No wonder she had been so mean lately.

“...I’m sorry Anara,” he said humbly.

“ _Elena_ ,” she corrected harshly.

“What does that mean anyway?” he asked. “I’ve never even heard that name before. Is that elven?”

He was trying to distract her. It was his fallback tactic. It actually worked.

“My father named me,” she brooded. “I’m not telling you what it means.” She’d had enough of him. She stormed off in the opposite direction, away from Redcliffe, back towards camp.

“Come on Anara!” he called after her. “I thought we were friends! We were bonding over bloodlines and shared hatred! Don’t be like that!”

Leliana waited until she was clear out of sight before she spoke. “She’s going to kill you in your sleep,” she said.

“I know.”

The prince sighed and rubbed his temple. He felt a major headache coming on.


	3. Thank everybody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.

 

“My lady, if I could just have a moment of your time…”

She turned around and growled, making the stranger yelp. He’d been in their camp since they came back from Lothering. Every time she walked past he would ask if he could have a moment of her time. Normally she would ignore him, but after her “conversation” with Alistair, she needed something to _gnaw_ on. 

Or _someone_.

She stalked towards him, watching the fear in his eyes envelop his pupils. He was trembling by the time she reached him, his voice shaking and stuttering.

“I...D-duncan mentioned m-me didn’t he?” he asked hopefully.

That name made her mood change considerably. “Why would Duncan mention you?” she asked.

Suddenly she was cool, calm, slightly indifferent. He didn’t trust it. He did his best to tread carefully. Deep breath. And, “I’m Levi. Duncan said he would help me recover some evidence that my great-great-grandmother, Sophia Dryden, was a hero.”

“Why does that matter?”

She hadn’t gone off the deep end yet, so he continued. He explained who Sophia Dryden was, and why it was important that he find the evidence that he needed.

She seemed to understand completely. By the time he had finished his tale, her face had softened considerably. She looked _human_. She looked _sad_.

“I’ll help you,” she agreed.

It sent a thrill through him so powerful he almost hugged her. “Oh...thank you my lady. Thank you so much. I’ve mapped the way to Soldier’s Peak. And it would make a good base for you Grey Wardens, since...since...well it was already your base to begin with.”

She blinked, clueless. “Why do we need a base?”

“So you can have a place to rest, my lady,” he explained. “And you can probably find a lot of Grey Warden artifacts, learn more about your history. And you can store things you don’t need, so you won’t be carrying around so much in your pack. Plus, if you ever go to war, it makes a marvelous fort.”

She didn’t seem to like that last idea. An emotion flashed across her face that immediately put him on edge. But it was gone just as quickly as he recognized it. He decided to assume he imagined it.

Or did he? He thought he saw...tears? Yes. Tears. They were unmistakable. Those big, brown doe eyes with thick eyelashes rimmed with crystalline pain overwhelmed his instincts. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder in comfort.

She seized up. For a second he thought she’d shrug him off but she just stood there, small shoulders tense, eyes lowered to the ground. Her tears were caught on her bottom lashes. Like bugs in a web, they struggled to fall, but it was all in vain.

“My lady,” he started softly, “whatever the matter is, I’m sure that…”

She started to lean towards him. The poor thing was _distraught_. Her face displayed such agony that she couldn’t even sob it out. She covered her mouth, covered her silent wail, covered her pain, but it still emulated from her. She was trembling, shaking, threatening to collapse.

Levi wanted to hold her and tell her it was okay, even though he had no idea why she was so upset. She looked nothing like a Warden, and everything like a lost little girl who just wanted to go home.

The amount of pain she was in was obviously unbearable. If he had a little girl, and she’d come to him like that, he’d melt just like he was doing now.

“Warden…”

“Look, there she is!”

He looked up with surprise to see her companions coming around the bend, back to camp. He withdrew from her quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. He was trying to think of a way to explain why she was standing there crying but he didn’t have to. She cleaned herself up rather gracefully. By the time they approached them she was back to looking cool and indifferent. It was like nothing ever happened.

“Anara, you can’t just run off like that,” Alistair scolded gently. “Look, I realize that I probably shouldn’t have…”

“It’s **ELENA** ,” she hissed, turning to face him. “Call me Anara one more time and I will _impale_ you.”

Her eyes were threatening to kill him, her body tense with the desire. Levi expected her to draw her sword and run him through any second.

Alistair mock-saluted her. “As you say, my lady.” He wouldn’t stop, of course. He’d just wait until she was far less pissed off before he tried it again.

“Levi is going to lead us to Soldier’s Peak,” she announced, drawing her dagger. They all watched as she flipped it and caught it by the handle again and again. It was rather unnerving. At any second she could throw it at one of them. They all hoped their reflexes were quick enough to deflect it.

All except the qunari, who was extremely indifferent to everything. And the dog, who barked his approval.

“Soldier’s Peak,” Alistair repeated, daring to speak. “You mean the old Warden fort?”

Now Sten showed a little bit of interest.

“A fort would be an excellent asset,” he agreed. It was probably the most interesting thing they’d proposed since he joined up with them.

“I agree,” she nodded, balancing her knife on the end of her finger by the tip of the blade. “We’re going there now.”

“Now?” Alistair sputtered. “But we’re right here at Redcliffe! Arl Eamon…!”

“I’d think you wouldn’t care, Prince Alistair,” she smirked, a wicked edge in her tone. “You seem to enjoy following orders and dodging your responsibilities. Why the change of heart?”

Alistair’s next words were more gritty than sarcastic. “Lead the way then, _my queen_.”

CAN’T∙LIVE∙WITHOUT∙IT

She was a frigid thing.

Leliana was glad that Alistair volunteered to go into the fort with Elena. She was wickedness in a pretty package. She even made Morrigan’s hair stand on end. Or so she assumed. Morrigan had been largely quiet since the first time she met her.

“Do you think they’ll be alright in there?” she asked the witch.

“I could not care less,” Morrigan replied haughtily. “Twould almost be preferable if they did die in there. I wouldn’t have to hear Alistair, or smell the dog, see the qunari or deal with Elena’s glorious sense of entitlement.”

“I don’t think she means to be,” Leliana said softly. “I think she’s just in a lot of pain.”

“I think she’s spoilt,” Morrigan countered. “She was a noble. Alistair said her entire family was slaughtered. Now she’s treating us like her servants. As if we are somehow beneath her.”

Leliana just looked at Morrigan. The witch didn’t really have room to talk.

SO∙IT’S∙SENSELESS

There were ghosts.

They were reenacting their last days at the fort. It was a fascinating story. Apparently the Wardens had been barricaded inside Soldier’s Peak, forced to run through their resources until they starved to death. It made her shudder to think about it. But they pressed on.

Alistair had commentary, as always. Sten largely remained silent. As they slaughtered their way through the living dead and stopped to indulge Levi every now and again, Elena got the distinct feeling that there was more going on than they all knew.

As it turned out, she was right.

As they walked into the Warden Commander’s office, she saw Sophia Dryden in the flesh, standing there waiting for them. Her armor was impressive. Her body, not so much.

Sam barked fiercely at her.

“Quiet!” Sophia snapped in a voice that confirmed she was possessed. “This one wishes to speak to you.”

Sam growled, but Elena silenced him with a hand on his head.

“Why should I listen to you?” she asked.

“Because this one can help you retake the keep. Let this one go, and in turn, this one will close the opening to the Fade.”

“Do you really want to make a deal with a demon?” Alistair said in a low voice as he stood behind her.

For once, he was right. “I think I’ll take my chances,” she smirked, pulling out her sword. “Get her Sam.”

“Fool!” the demon shouted angrily.

The room filled with the skeletons of the walking dead. Sam’s path to Sophia was suddenly blocked, but he did not back down. Instead, he attacked the skeleton in front of him, tearing, breaking and crushing his bones.

Three skeletons surrounded Elena. Beyond them she saw Alistair fending off his own skeletons, while Sten battled it out with Sophia. She doubted the girls would have been half as useful in this battle.

She had learned a thing or two since she had become a Warden. She was still a flurry of instinct with basic training but she had held up well enough against a tower full of darkspawn and a troll in Ostagar. Three skeletons were hardly a challenge.

The first one got a nice kick in the ribs. She liked kicking things. She heard it crack, but the creatures felt no pain. That was bittersweet for her. She would prefer it if they screamed when she ran them through and cut them down. She liked the sound of slicing flesh. She liked to feel the blood spraying all over her in victory and death. 

Violence had shaped who she was. It was an innate part of her existence. She may as well enjoy it.

She swung her sword around and beheaded it, then moved on to the second. It was a chore to dodge all of their attacks while only focusing on one at a time. Sometimes they landed a blow. She felt more than one knick and poke at her ribs. Fortunately her armor protected her from the majority of it, though she was feeling blood running from her body. It didn’t stop her though. Every battle she won was a lesson learned. It only made her better.

There were archers firing at them from near the doorway. She dropped the last of the skeletons and headed for them, hoping that the boys didn’t need her help. She managed to whirl around one and take him out from the back, cutting his head clean off. The other turned on her, but she threw poison at him. His bones began to literally melt. Before he could aim and fire she had sliced him up and left him in a gooey puddle of liquid bone.

She turned just in time to see Sten hit Sophia in the face with the hilt of his sword, stunning her. Taking advantage of his opening, he cut off her head.

Sam’s triumphant barking signaled the end of the battle. Elena put away her weapons and walked over to the qunari, stretching her limbs as she went. She still wasn’t used to the constant movement of battle. She was aching already and they hadn’t even been here for an hour.

“Nice armor,” she said as she leaned over Sophia’s headless body. She looked up at Sten, then back down. Yeah, it would fit.

WANT∙TO∙CUT∙IT∙OUT∙OF∙MY∙SOUL

Avernus was a slimy old thing.

He was older than he should have been. She was surprised he was still alive. He had to be hundreds of years old by now. And for every year he had aged he gained another layer of evil. He was amoral and unapologetic about it. He had experimented on his surviving Grey Warden companions in horrible, unspeakable ways. She wanted to kill him simply on principle.

But she’d made a promise to Levi. Unfortunately this blood mage was the last living person who could help her fulfill that promise. So for now, he could stay alive.

Sensing a sinister motive, Avernus told Elena that it was her family that had betrayed the Wardens. When she exclaimed her distaste for the matter, he told her that the then-teryn had been butchered and displayed on a table with an apple in his mouth. That sent her into something of an emotional frenzy, one his old reflexes were not prepared for.

She was on top of him with a knife to his throat before he could even exhale. Who knew the little thing could move that fast?

“Tell Levi what he wants to know about Sophia,” she growled, “and then I’ll slit your throat ear to ear.”

“Don’t you mean or?” he countered calmly.

Something hard flickered in her deep brown eyes. “No.”

Oh, so she meant it. That blood-lust in her eyes, that pain, that _hurt_ was what drove her, what gave her strength, endurance. He admired it. Truth be told, he would love to dissect her and see exactly how those emotions worked in conjunction to make her so strong.

“You can’t kill me,” the mage informed her. “You need me to mend the tear in the Veil.”

“He’s right,” Alistair agreed, though it pained him to do so. The mage heard it in his voice.

“ _Pashaara*_ ,” said the qunari, folding his arms across his chest. “This is why we cut the tongues out of our mages mouths.”

“...That is...an unpleasant thought,” Alistair said slowly.

“ _Enough_!” Elena hissed, silencing her party. They snapped to attention like obedient mabari hounds. It was impressive, but Avernus also noticed how much it grated on them to follow her command. She was a harsh mistress then.

“Tell Levi what he wants to know,” she commanded him as she stood up. “Close the tear in the Veil. Then I’ll kill you.”

“For revenge?” Avernus guessed. He tried to get up without the aid of his staff. “Do you feel my crimes are beyond redemption? Are you disgusted by my research, by the things that I did?”

“I’m disgusted by your _existence_ ,” she answered, kicking his staff across the room. “You have nothing to offer me. After you close the tear in the Veil your usefulness will cease. I’m not going to let you go. Neither will they.”

Oh dear.

He stood up, sighing and brushing off his robes. Well, there was no use delaying the inevitable. “Ask your question, young Dryden.”

He was _nervous_ , probably because of the unstable bloodhound leading the party. “Ser mage, is there any evidence that my great-great-grandmother was a hero?” he asked humbly

“I’m afraid not,” he sighed, shaking his head. “But she was the best of us.”

He looked at Elena as he described the former Warden Commander: a fierce and fearless being who would do anything for survival and would only surrender in death.  The only acknowledgement he received from her was a flash of raw emotion in her brown cow eyes.

AND∙JUST∙LIVE∙WITH∙A∙GAPING∙HOLE 

The last demon was a pretty thing.

A Desire Demon, she said she was. That was right before she tried to tear them to shreds. But with all of them together, they made quick work of her. She was in pieces before the ritual was finished.

“We work rather well together,” Alistair said pleasantly.

Elena just snorted. She wanted no compliments from that weakling, well-meaning or otherwise.

“It is done,” Avernus sighed, turning towards them. “The Veil is sealed once more. Now, what will you do with me?”

“Should I let you live?” she questioned coolly. “You’re no longer convenient.”

“Now, wait a moment,” he said quickly. “I can continue my research, as I had been doing. Finding ways to make the darkspawn taint work for the Wardens, not against them.”

“And you think we’re just going to let you gather new victims to experiment on?” Alistair countered.

“Well, I would need new blood..”

“No you wouldn’t,” Elena objected. They all looked at her, curious as to her next words. “I’m sure that you can find a way to continue your research without bringing anyone else into it.”

Avernus balked. “But...without blood I can’t…”

“I said _no_ , Avernus!” she snapped. “If you want to live you’ll agree to these terms. Otherwise I’ll happily let Sten tear your tongue out or run you through. Maybe both.”

The qunari enjoyed this idea. His eyes said so.

Avernus sighed in defeat. He wanted to live, so he had no choice. “Very well. If I get any type of results, I shall inform you, though it may take some years.”

He promptly went back into his tower.

“You let him live again why?” Alistair wanted to know.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance. She didn’t _want_ to explain herself to that wretched man-child. “Didn’t you tell me that Grey Wardens only live 30 years?”

He blinked owlishly. “Yes…”

“Does he look like he lived for only 30 years? He can extend our lifespan. The darkspawn taint doesn’t have to be a death sentence. Let him continue his research. He’s literally not hurting anyone but himself.”

Alistair seemed confused. “But that…He used blood magic...”

“Do you really want to die an inevitable death from a slow, methodical poisoning?” she snapped.

He hesitated. “Well...not really…” he admitted. “But we don’t actually die like that. We just go into the Deep Roads and...”

“Do you actually want to die like that Alistair?” she asked, cutting him off.

He shook his head. 

“Then shut up and let him do his work. We’ll worry about controversies later.”

Alistair decided to just drop it. He may not have agreed with it but there was no arguing with her.

“I am grateful, my lady,” Levi announced, swiftly changing the subject.

She turned towards him, suddenly relaxed. For once she wasn’t a shrieking harpy on the verge of losing her mind. When she spoke to Levi, she seemed almost _normal_. It was amazing how fast she could change moods. It was almost like flipping a switch.

“But we haven’t restored your family’s honor,” she protested.

“It does not matter,” he said with a smile. “I was so busy living in the past that I couldn’t move forward. Now I can. It doesn’t matter what she did. It only matters what I do with my life now.”

He bowed to her and bent to kiss her forehead. Though bloody and sore, she felt the sentiment crawl across her skin and down her spine. She wished she could feel the same way. She wished she could be free of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Pashaara: enough


	4. You're gonna do it again

“So...you and Levi,” Alistair said as they sat around the campfire. “Not that it’s any of my business, but...when did that happen?”

She sighed and pressed the cloth against the Warden Commander’s armor again, polishing it vigorously. It needed to be cleaned up before she could give it to Sten. He'd look rather intimidating in it, if not downright handsome. For a qunari, anyway. “When did what happen?”

“Well...you know,” he prodded, staring up at the sky for a moment.

She didn’t respond.

“He kissed you Anara,” the prince said bluntly.

“Why do you _insist_ on irritating me at every waking moment?” There was venom in her voice but it was overlapped by tiredness. She was weary. He got that. He was tired too. And caked in death and demon remains.

He still managed to frown at her though. “I’m not trying to irritate you. I’m just trying to make conversation.”

He knew they didn’t get along but they were the last two remaining Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden. They couldn’t keep fighting like cats and dogs. They had to get along, or nothing would ever go well for them. How could they face the archdemon if they were divided?

A few moments of intense silence passed before she answered him.

“Nothing happened between me and Levi,” she said quietly. “I don’t know why he kissed me.”

“So...men just randomly walk up to you and kiss you on the forehead?” He shook his head and leaned back on his hands. “Of course they do. You’re beautiful.”

She sighed heavily. “Alistair…”

“I’m not baiting you, Elena,” he said, making her look up at him. He looked back at her, a small smile on his face. “We got off on the wrong foot, but there’s no reason we can’t start over. We can at least _try_ to get along. We don’t want the kids to see mommy and daddy fighting all the time do we?”

Wonderful. More jokes. He never took anything seriously. “What does me being pretty have to do with that?”

He sat up. “So you acknowledge that you are beautiful? Will you also acknowledge that you enjoyed that kiss, even if it was a severe violation of your personal space?”

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t sure if he was flirting with her or just trying to get under her skin. Knowing him, probably both.

“It wasn’t that kind of kiss Alistair,” she responded slowly. 

“Really?” He seemed surprised. “Then what kind of kiss was it?”

“It was the type of kiss you’d give a family member. Like “good luck” or…”

“I care for you?” he finished softly. She glared at him. “Not like that,” he assured her hastily. “I mean the way a male relative would care for a younger female relative who is clearly...going through something.”

And there it was.

The pain in her eyes was so intense, Alistair wasn’t sure if the fire was exaggerating it or helping him to see how deep it actually went. It was an open, festering wound on her young soul, constantly bleeding. She didn’t know how to stop it. She didn’t know how to _mourn_.

“And here I thought you were just being a spoilt brat on purpose,” he said, causing her to go back to polishing the armor. “I’m sorry Elena,” he said sincerely. “I forgot that you lost…”

She cut him off before he could continue. “Tell Sten he can have this.” She stood up and dropped the breastplate on top of the other pieces of armor she had finished cleaning. “I’m going to go clean myself up.” She grabbed her pack and sauntered towards her tent.

He didn’t know how she was going to clean up when they were surrounded by snow, but he wasn’t going to question it. He looked at Sam. The mabari whined his discontent.

“I really wasn’t trying to set her off that time,” he assured the dog.

He barked. He knew.

“Honestly, you’re the only one she lets in.” He reached over to rub him on the head, eliciting another whine. “She doesn’t even let you in?” the templar translated. “That’s not good. She can’t keep holding that inside. She’s going to explode, you know.”

Sam lowered his head to the ground and whined again.

“I know, I know. I don’t like it any more than you do. But she’s a fortress. I guess all I can do is keep trying.”

He looked at the Warden Commander’s armor, watching it glint in the firelight. It was probably too heavy for him to wear anyway.

TAKE∙CONTROL∙OF∙MY∙LIFE

She could be pretty clever when she wanted to be.

She melted some of the snow using one of the small pots over a small fire she built. Then she simply dipped the soap inside and used it to wipe herself down. After she was clean, she dried herself off with one of her cloths and put on a tunic and some trousers.

She was freezing though.

Her armor needed to be cleaned but she could probably just use a little bit of water to do that. She thought about telling Alistair about how she got clean but decided against it. He could figure it out himself.

Damn prince.

She couldn’t believe him. Batting his pretty eyes at her, those long eyelashes coaxing her into staring at him. Trying to be smooth and make her open up to him. His witty one-liners were hardly a source of entertainment. And she didn’t want a _boy_ who ran away from his responsibilities anyway.

He called them mommy and daddy.

They were heading to the Circle Tower and _away_ from Redcliffe, just to spite him.

AND∙WASH∙OUT∙ALL∙THE ∙BURNT∙TASTE 

They emerged from the Circle Tower drained and aching with a new companion. Leliana and Morrigan couldn’t help but notice how much she liked to leave them behind when it came to doing important things.

“Do you think we’re your servants?” Morrigan demanded as Alistair collapsed in front of the campfire. “Why is it you always run headfirst into battle with the men and leave us behind?”

“Because you whine too much,” Elena responded, nearly falling over as she sat down.

“We are not going to just sit here and tend to the camp while you run off having adventures and killing darkspawn!” Morrigan shouted at her. “We are not your nannies!”

“This is why we sew our mages mouths shut,” Sten muttered, taking his helmet off and sitting down at the fire. “And why women can’t be warriors.”

“I’m going to ignore that last comment,” Elena muttered, scooting towards him. She laid her head in his lap, earning a glare from him, but it was lost on her since her eyes were closed. “And I thought you cut out the tongues of your mages.”

“We do if they are found practicing forbidden magic,” he explained. “If they stay in their places then their mouths are simply sewn shut.”

“...How do you feed them?” Alistair wanted to know. Sten opened his mouth to answer, but the boy - the prince - shook his head. “You know what? I do not want to know. I’ve seen enough horrors to last me a lifetime. I don’t even want to eat. Everything in that Tower made me nauseous.”

“I want a bed,” Elena muttered, her head still resting on Sten’s lap. “A nice, warm bed with warm sheets and a roaring fireplace.”

“That does sound lovely,” Leliana agreed. She was not upset with Elena in the least. Morrigan spoke only for herself. The bard was happy to watch the camp. She said she would help, and if helping involved cooking and cleaning and staying in the quiet, she was more than happy to do so.

“And a bowl of stew,” Alistair agreed, sighing as he leaned back on his elbows. “With big chunks of meat.”

“What kind of meat?” Leliana asked.

“I don’t care,” Alistair sighed. “Any kind.”

“And potatoes,” Elena put in. “And leeks.”

“And green onions,” they said in unison.

“And carrots?” Leliana added, holding back a giggle.

“And soft, fresh baked rolls,” Alistair hummed.

“Smothered in honey butter,” Elena added, her voice dripping with desire.

“What’s honey butter?” their new companion asked. She was an older woman, old enough to be their grandmother. Her white hair was drawn back into a ponytail, and she had kind, wise old eyes.

“It’s butter mixed with honey,” Elena explained. “I used to love it. Whenever I was good, my nana would let me have some with dinner. If I was especially bad, she would forbid me from having it. Once I did something so horrible I wasn’t allowed honey butter for a month.” She chuckled softly at the memory.

“What did you do?” Leliana wanted to know.

“I let her caged bird free,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I told her it wasn’t right to keep anything in a cage. She wouldn’t do that to me, so she shouldn’t do it to the bird.” She laughed, though it sounded bittersweet. “I was young. What did I know about the world?”

“That reminds me of a story,” the bard said, and launched into a tale of a woman who was in love with a man who disguised himself as a bird. Elena was grateful she took over. She didn’t want them to see her cry.

I∙MADE∙THE∙PROBLEMS∙IN∙THE∙FIRST∙PLACE 

Elena sat up, breathing hard. She found herself on a bedding roll, tucked in soundly with a blanket over her. She was near the fire. The others had gone to bed, all in their tents. Except for Sten. He was staring at her from across the fire, looking very much like a demon from the Fade.

“How…?” she asked, looking around. She didn’t even remember falling asleep, never mind eating or being taken out of her armor. 

She looked back at him, his eyes haunting her every move. It sent shivers through her. “Sten, did you…?”

“You fell asleep,” he said simply. “The old mage said the Fade had taken a lot out of you. They ate and I put you to bed.”

“ _You_ put me to bed?” she repeated.

“Why are you surprised?”

“Because I didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t,” he assured her. “I just wanted you off of me. It was inconvenient. I could not move.”

“That sounds about right.”

She tried not to feel disappointed. That stern face wouldn’t warm up to an infant.

Ah well. Back to sleep.

“Do you have a plan, child?”

She sat up again, glaring across the fire at him. She didn’t like the way he called her “child,” as if she _were_ one.

She crossed her arms over her chest and met his gaze directly. “A plan for what?”

“Defeating the darkspawn.”

“We’re gathering allies to build an army now,” she said. “Once we have our armies we will march against the archdemon.”

“I see.”

He said nothing else for a time. Perhaps he was working out something in that huge qunari head of his. He certainly looked intimidating enough in the Knight Commander’s armor. He was a good candidate to watch the camp while they slept.

“Sten.”

He groaned in frustration before he answered. “What is it?”

She ignored his reaction. “What were you doing in that cage?”

“I caged myself,” he replied. “A weak mind deserves to be caged.”

“What do you mean by a weak mind?”

“Just as I said.”

“So you were not a prisoner?”

“Yes.”

“Cute. You’re the silent type I see.”

“Does this line of questioning have a point?”

“You said you murdered a family.”

Ah, finally some emotion. He grunted, or maybe growled, before he answered.

He told her that he and his brothers being surrounded by darkspawn.

“That sounds like what happened to us at Ostagar,” she said.

He nodded his approval with a shake of his head. “I heard about that. You fought admirably. It’s hard to think that you were among them child.”

“Why?” she asked defensively.

“Because I do not see a Grey Warden when I look at you. I see a child who has not learned her place yet.”

Her eyes narrowed severely. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Everyone has a place in the world,” he answered simply. “You do not know what yours is yet. Or perhaps you do, but you are working against it. I cannot tell. All I see when I look at you is confusion. You are uncertain about much, and it adds unnecessary burden.”

“...What happened to your brothers?” she asked, skipping over that part of the conversation entirely.

Sten went on as if it never happened. He told her how his brothers died fighting the darkspawn, and when he woke up he was the only one left. He was in the home of a farmer who had been taking care of him. He panicked when he found his sword was missing, and slaughtered all of them - even the little ones.

She just stared at him. She could picture him going on a rampage, but she never pictured him regretting his actions. Perhaps there was more to him than the stoic giant she had come to like having by her side.

“Why did you panic?” she asked. “Isn’t it just a sword?”

“No,” he answered irritably. “It is shameful for a soldier of the Beresaad to lose their weapon. If I were to return home without it I would be executed. That is why I can never go home.”

Oh. So it was important then. Very important by the look on his face. He almost looked... _pained_.

She knew the feeling of not being able to go home. There was nothing for her to go back to either. Maybe it wasn’t the same but she felt like it was a point of connection at least. Both of them were lost in a world that neither of them knew anything about.

“You can stay with me,” she said softly.

He looked up at her. She had the eyes of a child: hungry, needy and big enough to drown in.

“Thank you.”


	5. You are the few, the proud

Now they could go to Redcliffe. 

It seemed to be a point of contention for Elena, but Alistair didn’t want to bring it up. She bristled a lot around him, eyeing him off whenever she caught him gazing at her. It was difficult to find a chink in her armor. She’d built quite a wall around herself.

The only thing he saw that she really enjoyed was fighting, killing and violence. And fine things. She was a noblewoman after all. All of this “roughing it” was taking a toll on her. He could tell she was aching, but she chose not to complain about it. It was admirable, but he couldn’t help but feel like they would all suffer for her silence later on.

Maybe he could ward off the unintended consequences by showing her how to get some of those kinks out of her joints. She looked stiffer than a tree, although her muscles were developing quite nicely.

“You’re going to burn a hole in her back staring at her like that,” Leliana whispered quietly in his ear.

“GAH!” he exclaimed in surprise. He covered his ear to protect himself from the offending words. His reaction earned a giggle from the bard. “Could you please never do that again?!” he bit out, glaring at her.

Elena looked back at them with a glare, silently warning them to keep it down.

Leliana waited until she turned away before she spoke again. “She is very pretty Alistair,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone quite so...so…”

“Untouched?” Alistair finished. This time Sten looked back at him. He could have sworn the qunari rolled his eyes too.

He tried so hard not to blush, but he knew he was failing. He blushed so easily when it came to pretty girls. “I meant inexperienced,” he said in a quieter tone.

Leliana grinned and shook her head. “You’re inexperienced too Alistair.”

“What? No I’m not,” he insisted. “I know far more about the world and the way it works than she does.”

“And yet you’re content to let her lead,” the bard noted thoughtfully.

He shook his head, even though he agreed with her. “I don’t like being responsible for other people’s lives,” he admitted. 

“Interesting, considering you called yourselves mommy and daddy just a few days ago,” Morrigan interjected.

Alistair nearly jumped out of his skin. Morrigan was so creepy. He could never tell when she was lurking around, listening from the shadows. She always showed up at the last moment with too much information, making him wish he could just keep silent. But he couldn’t. He was the talkative type, and she was the eerie, sinister type.

He wanted to say something nasty to her, but he didn’t feel like fighting with her. He was tired of fighting with his companions. They should have been getting along, not putting targets on each other’s backs.

“It was a joke,” Alistair muttered. “You know, because we’re the only surviving members of the Grey Wardens, and we founded this little traveling circus.”

“Quite a morbid joke Alistair,” Morrigan said levelly. “And at the behest of your dead comrades.”

“Why don’t you go drown in a moat?” he countered. His tone was rather civil, all things considered.

“She’s doing the best she can for what she’s been through,” Leliana said sympathetically, breaking up their bitter banter. “Perhaps you should talk to her Alistair.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” he sighed. “She is determined to hate me.”

“Well, at least we have something in common,” Morrigan said impassively. She walked ahead of them before Alistair could retort, wedging herself between Elena and Sten. Neither one of them seemed to appreciate it, especially when Morrigan started needling Sten about being attracted to him.

“Ugh…” Alistair groaned, shaking his head. “I sincerely hope she’s joking about that.”

“Nevermind that,” Leliana said, raising her voice a little. Just a little, so that she was no longer whispering. She figured it was all right now, since Morrigan had Sten and Elena distracted. Their scowls at the witch’s words matched perfectly. Leliana filed that away for later. “She needs a friend Alistair,” she said to the prince.

“I don’t know how to get her to open up to me,” he admitted in frustration. “I tried being nice. I tried complimenting her. I tried joking with her. She shut me down every time.”

“Have you tried being direct with her?” Leliana asked.

He sighed. “I’m pretty sure I was honest when I told her she was beautiful.”

The bard seemed surprised. “You told her that?”

“Well I’m not going to lie to her.” He colored considerably before his next statement. “Actually it sort of just slipped out, and I ran with it. She didn’t seem to appreciate it much though.”

“Well...she _is_ beautiful,” Leliana agreed. “I like the way she styles her hair.”

Alistair looked at Elena as if seeing her for the first time. She had pretty features: dark skin, dark eyes, petite nose, heart-shaped lips and face. Her hair was a stark contrast to all of that.  It was short, straight and blonde - so blonde it was nearly white. There was barely enough of it to tuck behind her ears. She just showed up with Duncan like that. He wondered if maybe she had cut her hair on the way to Ostagar or if she’d always worn it like that. It would have been more attractive and endearing if it were longer.

“Her hair’s cut like a boy’s,” he said after a few moments.

“She still has a pretty face,” Leliana said.

He silently agreed. Besides those dramatic eyes framed by ridiculously long eyelashes, she had a rather cute little nose, and very inviting lips. Too bad she was always frowning. He bet that when she smiled she’d light up a room.

Alistair looked over at Leliana, who was still staring straight ahead. “Now who’s trying to bore a hole in her back?”

“S-sorry!” she yelped, trying to cover her blush.

Alistair was clueless, but not that clueless.

“You like her too?” he guessed.

“I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t go for me,” she laughed softly. “She seems to like Sten.”

“Wait, wait, _what_?” Alistair blinked and looked at the qunari. “...I don’t see how.” Or _why_ for that matter.

“You’re missing all the subtle clues Alistair,” she said in her lilty voice. “Look at them. Look at the way she’s looking at Morrigan.”

He blinked. “Like she wants to tear her head off? She always looks at Morrigan like that.”

“No,” she laughed, turning his head towards them. “Look again.”

Alistair didn’t really see anything. “OK...what am I looking at?”

“Her body language.”

“She’s tense,” he noticed. “She’s always like that.”

“There is a difference between being tense and being protective,” Leliana explained. “Look again. She has all the signs of a mother bird protecting her young chicks.”

He still didn’t see it. “Maybe I’m just really bad at this,” he said with a sigh.

Leliana laughed again. It was musical, a pretty sound that brought relief during such a harsh journey. “I can teach you,” she offered.

“Teach me to what?”

“Read women. Read their body language. It’s not a bad skill for anyone to have.”

“Um...am I going to regret this?” he asked hesitantly.

She laughed again. “What sort of teacher do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. You were a sister in the chantry. You might hit my knuckles with a stick if I get something wrong.”

“Trust me Alistair, I have no reason to hit you with anything,” she chuckled. “So far.”

“OK, but if I give you one, you have to warn me first,” he requested. “I don’t like being surprised by objects flying at my face.”

She laughed again. “I don’t think anyone does.”

“I suppose it would depend on the object,” he said thoughtfully.  

This time when she laughed, Alistair couldn’t help but smile. At least someone enjoyed his wit.

HANG∙MY∙HEAD∙LOW

She could hear Leliana laughing behind them. Good. At least Alistair could amuse someone. Now if only Morrigan had stayed back there with them.

The witch kept insisting on bothering Sten. She was flirting with him. Elena could tell it was bothersome to the qunari, even though he kept his responses as brief as possible. Still, it rankled the Warden considerably. She felt like she wanted to tear Morrigan’s face off - even more so than usual. The witch was talking to Sten like he was a piece of meat to be devoured and digested, and that just made Elena want to stomp her into the ground with the heel of her boot.

“I dream about you and I you know,” Morrigan purred at Sten.

As usual, he showed no emotion when responding to her. “You would, even if I were interested in a small thing like you,” he said evenly. “The Qunari act is unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant?” she repeated, clearly intrigued. “Unpleasant how? Now I really am interested.”

“It’s deadly.”

“Oh?” Her eyes glittered wickedly. “And what if I don’t mind a little...animation?”

“You’d be less animated afterwards.”

The witch chuckled. “It sounds as if I’m arousing your passions already my dear Sten.”

“Morrigan, stop it,” Elena finally snapped. “Sten is a warrior, not some unsuspecting male you can lure to your bed and suck the life out of.”

“I doubt I could drain him so easily,” the witch murmured coyly as she looked up at Sten. “But I certainly wouldn’t mind trying.”

“Enough,” she commanded, stopping to face her. “Back away right now, or I will…”

“No,” Sten objected, interrupting her. “It is alright child. If this is what she wants, I will oblige her.”

 _Child_.  Elena rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and looked positively _irritated_ , as if he had somehow scolded her. But she kept her mouth shut. Morrigan took that as a sign of triumph.

“So,” Morrigan grinned, “you were saying my dear qunari?”

“You will need armor I think,” Sten started thoughtfully. “And a helmet. And something to bite down on. How strong are human teeth?”

Morrigan blinked. “How strong are my teeth?”

“Qunari teeth can bite through leather, wood, even metal given time,” he informed her matter-of-factly. “Which reminds me, I may try to nuzzle.”

This was not going at all like she expected. “Nuzzle?”

“If that happens you’ll need an iron pry bar,” Sten instructed. “Heat it in a fire first, or it may not get my attention.”

The witch seemed to blanch. “Perhaps it would be better if we did not proceed.”

“Are you certain?” Sten asked. “If it would satisfy your curiosity…”

“Yes,” she said firmly, walking ahead. “Yes, I think that’s best.”

Elena couldn’t help but smirk. She looked up at Sten, and swore she saw him smirking too.

CAUSE∙IT’S∙PART∙OF∙ME

“You shouldn’t have needled him,” Wynne said as she walked beside Morrigan.

The witch eyed the old woman with some annoyance. Wynne had remained largely quiet since joining their group, save for when Elena passed out the night they exited the tower. She reminded Morrigan of a grandmother. She didn’t like grandmothers.

“My conversation with the qunari is hardly your concern,” she said dismissively.

“True,” Wynne agreed. “But Elena is right. You would probably have made more headway if you had respected him.”

“He called her _child_ ,” Morrigan snorted. “What does she know about respect?”

“A lot more than you, apparently. He has not sent her scampering in the opposite direction.”

Morrigan’s voice betrayed her disdain. “It’s hard to do that when you aren’t talking.”

“Perhaps he prefers it that way.”

Rejection hurt, but Morrigan could get over it. It was her pride that was wounded. How could he stand the company of that spoilt little wretch? And it wasn’t as if she didn’t catch Alistair making moon eyes at her either. 

Elena had been nothing but unpleasant to them since day one: bossing them around, threatening them, treating them like they were basically dirt under her feet. And yet they had the nerve to defend her actions and behavior, as if it was somehow acceptable.

Well she was no one’s servant.

She walked past Wynne in a furious huff. If she thought she could get away with making the girl burst into flames, she’d certainly try it.

YOU∙HARDLY∙SEE

The lull of the road was quite pleasant.

She didn’t even mind the constant chattering of Alistair and Leliana. They seemed to have taken quite a shine to one another. That was good. Someone needed to keep Alistair busy. If he was occupied with someone else, he wasn’t bothering her.

Ahead of them, Wynne and Sam were keeping a vigil. The qunari walked beside her. She must have been walking too slow for him. She said so.

“I am fine child,” he said sternly. “If I desired to walk ahead, I would do so.”

The more he called her a child, the more she felt like one in his presence. She found it insulting, but, part of her wanted to reach up and hold his hand in the same way a child would grab the hand of their father, just so she could have something solid to touch.

She hadn’t felt secure in a long time. She doubted she would ever feel it.

“Help!” a woman’s voice screamed ahead of them. “Help, please! They’re attacking the caravan!”

The seven of them promptly ran after the woman. They thought that they would come upon a group of darkspawn raiding a caravan.

What they came upon was a trap.

A large tree fell behind them, nearly crushing Elena in the process. It was a good thing her she dived out of the way. She didn’t even have a chance to roll over and get up before she heard

“The Grey Warden dies here!”

Shit.

RIGHT∙NEXT∙TO∙THE∙HEART∙OF∙ME

Alistair was no military genius, but he knew enough to know how to map out a plan of attack. And he had good survival instincts. They were being flanked from the hills and attacked on the ground. There were rogues and archers that needed to be taken out or they would be shot to death while trying to fend off the mages and warriors that were attacking them directly.

He signaled the three women verbally. “Wynne, Morrigan, Leliana!”

The bard nodded, aiming her arrow high up on the hill. “Got it!”

“Go boy!” he commanded, snapping and pointing to the left. Sam obediently charged up the hill tearing into anything that was in his path. He almost felt bad for his victims, but then remembered they were trying to kill all of them.

Wynne and Morrigan cleared out the right side while Leliana and Sam took the left. When they had killed all of the archers, they perched up on the hill and focused their attacks on the enemies in the valley.

Meanwhile, Alistair was trying to get to Elena’s side. She was preoccupied with the elf that announced their death, and it looked like she was losing badly. He heard Sam’s vicious bark as he lunged at someone behind him. The enemy hit the dirt hard; his weapon flew out of his hand. Alistair turned back just in time to see the mabari tearing his throat out.

That was one dangerous dog.

But he still had to get to Elena.

“Sten!” Alistair called. He saw the qunari not far off, being overwhelmed by sheer number. He couldn’t get to her either. All three of them were trapped. It seemed like for every one enemy they cut down, two sprang up in their place.

The body count was getting high. Leliana’s arrows often showed up in an enemy’s shoulder or chest, and Alistair would finish them off. Sten was cutting them down like weeds, and Sam was tearing apart whatever his jaws could latch onto. Occasionally a spell would fly past the prince’s head, but he had learned not to be unnerved by that. The battlefield was about survival, not about being comfortable.

A sudden scream pierced the air. Alistair looked up from the man he had just run through. Elena was crumpled on the ground at the elf’s feet, bleeding profusely.

“Too bad you have to die my dear,” he said in a heavy accent. “You’re utterly gorgeous, but a job is a job.” He raised his sword above her chest.

Alistair tried to move towards her but he was suddenly thrown to the ground. He looked up, coming face to face with a rogue with a dagger in his hand. He stepped to the prince as if to run him through. He very nearly would have if Leliana hadn’t gotten him with a headshot.

The sound of the sudden crunch of bone not far away from him instantly made him feel sick.

“No,” he gasped, scrambling to his feet. “Elena…!”

He ran over to her, thinking the worst, but the exact opposite was true. Elena was standing over the assassin, sword in hand, holding her ribs. That must have been what he heard crack. She was bleeding, but she was alive. Every breath was labored, every inhale sheer agony, but she had won.

“What happened?” Alistair asked as he joined Sten at her side. The assassin was knocked out cold at her feet. “How did you…?”

“I kicked him,” she replied levelly.

Alistair looked the elf over. He didn’t see any blood on his face so it couldn’t have been there. “Where?”

“Guess,” she smirked.

He winced. “...Ooooh…”

Even Sten seemed to frown at the idea. But it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it.

“He’s still breathing,” the qunari noted. He was clearly displeased.

“I know,” she sighed. “Tie him up. I want to know who was stupid enough to hire him.”

“Allow me,” Morrigan offered as she walked up to them with a long length of rope.

Alistair shook his head. He didn’t even want to know where she had found that.


	6. You are the antibody

They were forced to make camp. 

Elena was badly injured, and her armor was ruined. They would have to travel all the way back to the Tower to get more. She could still wear it, but the hole the assassin left in it rendered it useless.

“I may be able to mend it a little,” Leliana offered, “if I can just find a needle thick enough…”

“Do not bother,” Sten told her. “It is ruined. We will just get her new armor.”

“Well she can’t walk around wearing nothing,” she protested. “We have to at least find her some clothes to wear.”

“She should have extra clothes in her pack,” Alistair said, standing up. “I’ll go get it.”

While they fussed, Wynne healed Elena’s wound.

“You are lucky,” the mage said to the rogue as she sat up. “You could have died from that wound.”

“Thank you,” she muttered, still nursing her side. It still hurt but at least it had stopped bleeding.

“The pain will fade in a few minutes,” Wynne assured her. “Stay here. I will go tend to the others.”

As soon as she left, Sten went and sat next to Elena. “She is right child,” he said. “You should not have lived through that.” His rough fingers grabbed a fistful of her blond hair and pulled her head back so he could peer into her eyes.

She didn’t even struggle, despite the fact that she probably should have. “Third time that’s happened to me,” she muttered, staring at him. “I keep cheating death.”

He peered down at her thoughtfully, his red eyes practically boring into her. “Perhaps you are not meant to die yet,” he suggested.

“What are you doing?” she asked him. The way he was holding her and looking at her was _unnerving_.

“Checking your eyesight,” he responded. “I saw him hit you in the head. You may have damage.”

“Brain damage?” she chuckled, squirming out of his grip.

He let her go. “I thought that went without saying.”

She looked at him. She wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. A phantom of a smile shadowed the corners of his mouth. That was the only hint at humor she’d ever received.

“You could set a forest aflame with your sense of humor,” she smirked, shaking her head.

He blinked. “A burning forest is not funny.”

“She means your humor is dry,” Alistair explained as he kneeled down next to her. He had a bundle of cloth in his hands. He pressed it into her chest. “Here,” he offered. “Wear this. Wynne is washing our clothes right now.”

“Is this your shirt?” she asked, taking it from him. She frowned as she unfolded it and examined it. It had gravy stains on it. “This is definitely your shirt.”

“Now, look, gravy doesn’t really come out easily,” he said as he settled down next to her. “But it is clean. I always keep an extra one just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” she asked, lifting her arms to put it over her head.

He helped her into it with the same sort of care an older sibling would give to a younger one. “Just in case of this, actually,” he admitted. He stopped to brush her hair out of her face. “I thought ‘One day someone may actually run her through, ruin her armor and make me fear for her life. I’d better keep an extra clean shirt in my pack so that she can have something to wrap up in after we heal her.’”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh haha,” she grumbled. She flicked his ear as an afterthought.

“Ow!” he shouted, reaching up and grabbing his ear. “That’s not very nice you know!”

“ _I’m_ not very nice,” she countered, baring her teeth.

“Well that is true. I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised.” He rubbed his ear and stood up. “Leliana and I are going to go hunting,” he informed her. “Are you sure you want to keep that...thing around?” He glanced back at the bound elf on the ground, who was still unconscious.

“Morrigan is a person, not a thing Alistair,” Elena quipped.

“Ha! Good one,” he chuckled. “I’m going to have to use that. Seriously, I meant the assassin.”

She turned her head to look at him too. “I want to know who hired him,” she said again. “I’m pretty sure Morrigan tied him up well enough. He can’t get away.”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “He probably can’t even _breathe_ with the way she bound those ropes. For all we know he’s already dead. Anyway, we’ll be back soon.”

Sten waited until he was out of earshot before he spoke again. “These delays are only keeping us away from our goal, child.”

She glared at him. “I didn’t choose to be ambushed and nearly killed,” she snipped.

“True. But we should not be wasting time interrogating the assassin. Kill him and be done with it.”

“We’re not killing him Sten.”

Now she was being defiant. “Why not?” he wanted to know. “He is useless.”

She promptly disagreed. “No he isn’t. We’re going up against an archdemon and a horde of darkspawn. We need all the help we can get.”

“And if he refuses?” Sten proposed.

She shrugged. “Then we’ll kill him. But I don’t think he’s that stupid.”

Sten grimaced. “One can never tell with elves.”

She tried not to laugh at that. “Stupidity isn’t limited to elves, you know,” she reminded him. “Besides, he nearly beat me. If he can teach me to be a better fighter, then I want him to come along.”

“ _I_ can teach you to be a better fighter,” he said, indignant.

She laughed. “You? Sten you’d kill me.”

“Only if you allow it.”

“We don’t have the same fighting style,” she explained carefully, suddenly serious. “I don’t have your massive strength. I have two weapons, not one. I’m lighter, and quicker, but you’re solid and massive. I won’t be able to move like you, or stand my ground like you do.”

That made little difference to the qunari. “I can teach you how to dodge.”

She glared at him. “Dodging isn’t going to make me a better fighter Sten.”

“It will teach you not to get hit.”

“You get hit all the time!” she exclaimed furiously.

“I do not have to resort to kicking someone to keep my life.” As if the notion was somehow dishonorable or beneath him.

“You are impossible!” she shouted, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Oh, my head,” the assassin moaned suddenly. They both looked over at him, watching as he opened his eyes. They were a wonderful warm, light brown that was almost startling to behold.“I had expected to wake up dead,” he admitted. “Or not wake up at all rather.” He paused to survey his surroundings and his current predicament. “...Why am I tied up?”

“Interrogate him, then,” Sten permitted.

She grasped the qunari’s shoulder and stood up, making her way over to the assassin. He’d done more damage than either of them thought. Sten shook his head. Pitiful child.

HURTING∙ME

Elves had never been quite so elaborate. Not as she knew them. 

This one smelled like _perfume_. Everything about him was exaggerated, from his light brown eyes to his lips, to his white-blonde hair, to his ridiculously outstanding nose, his face tattoos and his unnaturally small and lithe frame.

Or at least unnatural to her. Now that she thought about it, all her elven servants had been little things. Even if they were tall they were still delicate. They never held the same bulk or size as human men. Interesting that she would only notice that now when she had one tied up at her feet.

He seemed a bit fancy though, for both an elf and an assassin. He clearly spent a lot of time on his appearance. There was no way someone’s hair still laid that flat after getting the shit kicked out of them unless they were using some kind of _something_ in it. Clearly he was a freak.

“Like what you see Warden?” he purred, crashing in on her thoughts.

She glared at him.

He laughed.

Even his laugh was exaggerated. So was his accent. His horrible, horrible accent grated on the same part of her brain as Alistair’s one-liners. She punched him in the face on principle.

Blood oozed from his distinguished nose. She couldn’t help but smirk in satisfaction. He had almost killed her. She had wanted to die, true enough. But now, for some reason, the thought of dying by _his_ hand really _bothered_ her. He looked ridiculous, all dressed up and painted like he was going somewhere. What was _wrong_ with him? 

“I suppose I deserved that,” he sighed. His accent was slightly nasally now.

“What the hell did you think you were doing trying to kill me?” she demanded.

He looked up at her, ignoring the blood running out of his nose, a red river of shame staining his perfect light brown complexion. “...Um...trying to kill you? But, to be fair, you are royally tough to kill. And still utterly gorgeous.”

He would have prattled on if Sten hadn’t joined her. She could feel the chill of the qunari as he towered over both of them. The assassin felt it too, as he promptly shut up. If nothing else, Sten was good at intimidating people.

“Answer my questions or the qunari is going to tear you limb from limb,” she hissed at the elf.

“No problem,” he agreed hastily. “I will tell you everything you want to know.”

He spilled his guts. He told her his name (Zevran Arainai), who hired him (Loghain), why (to kill her, of course), and all kinds of other things she really didn’t need to know. He even laughed a little as he cracked a joke, which just made her hit him again.

“My nose might be permanently damaged now,” he sighed as more blood trickled over his lips. “Such a shame. It was one of my best features.”

“Would you _shut up_!?” she suddenly shouted in frustration. “How in the world did you almost kill me?? You are either completely incompetent, an idiot, or a really, really good actor!”

“I’d say it’s the first two,” Sten agreed. “Although, considering he’s an assassin, it could very well be all three.”

She glared up at him. “Are you saying he’s smarter than he looks?”

“I’m saying don’t trust him, child.”

Zevran looked between them and suddenly grinned, despite his injuries. Like any assassin, he saw an opening and took advantage of it. “Ohhh. I see,” he murmured. “You want to protect her from the naughty elf who may stab her in the back if he’s freed. That is adorable. I must admit, I have never seen a qunari with a human pet before. Where is her leash?”

“I am not his pet!” she hissed, just as Sten announced “She is not my pet.”

He blinked, faking surprise. “No? Why are you so protective of her then?”

“If I’m not she’ll get us all killed,” Sten answered honestly.  

The glare she gave him could have leveled a mountain. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You have no idea what you’re doing child,” Sten answered simply. “You are not a leader, and you are not a warrior.”

“Then why are you still here?” she demanded. The qunari missed the hurt in her voice, but the elf did not.

“I made you a promise,” he replied. “I intend to keep it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. “So that’s it?”

“There is no other reason for me to stay.”

“...I said you could stay with me,” she said bitterly. Zevran could smell the tears in her eyes. “You don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Sten gave her a curt nod. “And I thanked you.”

Zevran took that as another opportunity.

“Warden, if I may?” he proposed, trying to hide the mischief in his voice. “I am in quite a predicament, and so are you. You seem to need help. Having failed my assignment, it is quite likely that the Crows will come after me and most likely murder me. So I propose that you let me free, and I serve you.”

“And I protect you from anyone trying to run you through,” she snorted, her tone still bitter.

He wouldn’t deny it. “Exactly. Call it a mutual benefit.”

“And what can you possibly do for me?”

“A lot of things!” he announced cheerfully. “I can open locks. I can kill people - I am quite adept at that. I can cook and clean. I’ll even stand around and look pretty if you prefer.”

She didn’t even think twice about it. “Fine.”

She sliced through his ropes with her knife. He saw the look of contempt and disappointment in the qunari’s eyes. Zevran smirked as he rubbed his wrists and stood up. When Sten stalked off, he couldn’t help but grin.

Just as planned.

THE∙WOUNDS∙SOON∙SCAR

“So have you changed your mind about her?” Leliana asked as she wrapped up the boar’s feet with rope.

Alistair looked up from removing the arrow from the creature’s heart. It was a nice, clean shot. Leliana was a very good archer.

“About who?”

“Elena,” she laughed. He wondered how she could be so calm about hunting animals. She seemed to enjoy it, in fact.

“Oh. I don’t know,” he admitted, handing her more rope. “She confuses me.”

“You seemed almost brotherly with her back at camp,” she noted, pulling out a knife. “The way you helped her into her shirt was adorable.”

“Well, I’ve never had a little sister,” he admitted. “I suppose it would be nice. She seems to need some looking after.”

“Didn’t I say that earlier?”

“You might have. I wasn’t paying attention.” She slapped his wrist. “Ow! Why are you always hitting me?”

“You enjoy it,” she said, a hint of mischief in her voice. “And so do I.”

“I...n-no I don’t!” He tried to vehemently deny it but the flush of his cheeks gave him away.

She laughed again and tied off the rope, then threw it over the branch they were standing underneath. “Don’t worry Alistair. I won’t tell anyone else about your little perversion.”

“You really enjoy holding things over me don’t you?”

“I do,” she admitted. There was the tiniest hint of flirting in her voice as she hoisted the hog up while Alistair sliced its throat to let it bleed out. “I really, really do.”

NEW∙CUTS∙COVER∙WHERE∙THE∙OLD∙ONES∙ARE

Zevran watched the Warden stare into the fire and scowl.

There were so many opportunities to manipulate her. He would, of course, hold up his end of the bargain - as long as it was convenient. The second he got a chance, he was leaving this ragtag band of mismatched patches. If they were a quilt they would be a very, very poorly constructed one.

Now. How to have the most fun while he was here.

Obviously the qunari was a source of contention for her. If he offered to help her with that problem, he could probably wiggle his way into her good graces. Get close enough to her so that he could directly influence her.

Yes, that sounded about right.

He glanced at Sten, then back at the Warden.

It was like going after a target all over again. Get her to trust him, get her to fall for him...and slide the knife right between her ribs.

“My darling Warden,” he said as he approached her. She looked up at him with a glare that would send the darkspawn running for the hills, but he was hardly unnerved by it. “May I have a word with you in private?”

He could feel Sten’s eyes on him, contemplating all the ways he could kill the elf. His gaze grew harder as Zevran offered his hand to the Warden to help her off the ground. He couldn’t help but glance over at him as he led her away from camp. Was that jealousy he saw?

Oho. The qunari had left him quite an opening.

“What do you want Zevran?” she sighed, looking at him with disdain.

He matched her contempt with an innocent smile. “I noticed that the qunari does not respect you,” he said smoothly. “I can help you with that.”

Her frown quickly eased into an expression of disbelief. “Really. How.”

“I know a little of qunari culture,” he told her. “Sten is a warrior. He respects other warriors. I can teach you how to earn his respect.”

“You can teach me to fight?” she guessed.

“Well, that will be part of it, yes,” he admitted. “But not just that. You are a rogue, my dear. You have good basics, but you do not seem to understand how to use your talents to the full. That does not always involve fighting. Sometimes - most times - it involves manipulation.”

She refused. “Forget it. I am not manipulating him.” She started to walk away but he grabbed her by the shoulders to stop her.

“Nonono my dear,” he said quickly as he turned her to face him. “You misunderstand me. I’m not going to teach you how to manipulate the qunari. You are right to refuse. He is likely too smart for that. No, I am going to teach you how to manipulate everything and everyone else. Perhaps you cannot change him, but you can change everything around him. And when circumstances change, people do too, yes?”

She was silent for a few moments.

Elena had tried her best to make a connection with Sten. She actually thought they’d had one. They had similar experiences, after all. But he wasn’t interested in forming a bond with her. She was just a means to an end to him.

That hurt. It hurt that he just saw her as some kid who was traipsing around cluelessly while the rest of them followed her. He made it sound as if she were blind, and he was the only one who could see their path. She was perfectly capable of leading them against the archdemon. That wasn’t to say she wanted to, but she was still perfectly capable of doing it.

And here Zevran was offering to help prove it to him.

It was a tempting offer, but he was an assassin. It would be foolish to throw her trust into him, especially since he hadn’t asked for anything in return. There had to be some kind of catch.

“...That still sounds like manipulation to me,” she said finally. There was more than a bit of reluctance in her voice.

“It is,” he agreed, “although subtle. But there are other uses for it too. I’ll tell you what: I will start training you right this minute,” he offered. “If at any time, you feel uncomfortable with what I am teaching you, then we can stop and I will never bring it up again. Does that sound fair?”

She nodded. “OK.”

He had her.

“Good!” he laughed. “This will be fun! I will make it fun,” he promised.

He would not give away Crow secrets, but, he may as well entertain himself while he was waiting for a way out. After all, it would be foolish of him not to have a contingency plan.  


	7. Mind, soul and zen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next three chapters have been posted. Enjoy and thanks for reading.

The prince shook his head. Back to square one. She started taking Zevran with her everywhere.

He was permanently glued to her side from the moment she agreed to let him train her. According to the qunari he was offensive at best, but it wasn’t Sten’s decision to make. At least not yet. The more he followed Elena, the more he realized he should be in charge, especially since she kept making stupid decisions.

A perfect example was how she and Zevran disappeared every night for hours at a time. Sometimes they didn’t even eat. When they came back, she was always much calmer than when she left. He saw no bruises or signs of a fight, so he assumed that they had run off to have sex. It wasn’t like the elf wasn’t always talking about it and flirting with her. It was rather disappointing that she would fall for something so obvious though.

Obvious to him at least. She was a child, and she had less common sense than the rest of them.

“You are getting better,” Zevran said one evening as he rubbed her shoulders.

It was their turn to keep watch. Sten was only awake because he didn’t trust the elf. He just knew one day he’d wake up and she’d be dead and he’d be gone with all of their things. He made it a point to stay up with them, even if it wasn’t his turn.

The elf had taken to giving her a massage after coming from their nightly romps away from camp. He always looked so content when he touched her, as if that were his sole purpose in life. It was disgusting.

“That hurts,” Elena winced when his thumb pressed against a particularly tender spot.

His tongue clicked softly against the roof of his mouth. “Tsk tsk tsk. Such is the price we pay my dear. You will get used to it. It will go away soon, just like your feelings towards the qunari.”

They both looked at him, though Sten’s gaze was much harder than the Warden’s. He wanted to know what he was getting at. Was he trying to sow contention between them? Tear them apart from the inside? That’d be so like an assassin, sneaking around, leaving seeds of mistrust in his wake. He didn’t trust that he wasn’t still trying to kill her, just in a roundabout way.

Zevran, however, remained calm. He did try not to let his amusement leak into his next words. “Are you still angry with him?”

“...No,” she admitted. She sounded surprised at herself.

He smiled. “See? I told you it would work. I would not lie about something so important. You are not angry, he is still stoic, I am still Zevran. Time heals all things my dear turtledove.”

She grimaced. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that Zev. Turtledoves are stupid.”

He laughed. “I was not insulting you my darling. Turtledoves represent innocence. I thought you knew this.”

“I’m not innocent.” She sounded like she was pouting.

“I disagree,” he purred, planting a kiss on her shoulder. “You are very innocent in so many ways. It is very... _captivating_.”

He spoke softly against her skin, sending shivers through her. Sten saw her body shudder with desire. The elf responded by grabbing her waist and pulling her closer to him. She gasped, both surprised and delighted by the gesture. He took that as permission to keep going.

He traced the curve of her neck with his lips, stopping at her ear. “There is much you do not know about life, my dear,” he muttered. “I may as well teach you, since I am here. I am a very, very rewarding teacher,” he assured her. A devious smile punctuated his previous words.

Sten could hear her heart pounding, could see her pulse racing in her neck. She reached up, placing her hand on Zevran’s neck as he nibbled at her ear. Her pulse was racing in her wrist too, matching the rhythm of her heart.

Were they seriously going to do this right in front of him?

“It’s a wonder we aren’t dead,” he grumbled.

He was hoping to break up their little reverie, because damn it, they were supposed to be _watching for enemies_ , not _drooling all over each other_. Instead it had quite the opposite effect.

“Mmm, I think the qunari is jealous,” Zevran noted, glancing at him. “Perhaps he’d like to join in? She is _very_ willing.”

“Pashaara.” He stood up and went back to his tent, resigned.

He knew what he had to do. First chance he got, he was taking over.

AND∙NOW∙I’M∙SICK∙OF∙THIS

Zev put his finger over her lips to stifle her giggles. “He is jealous,” he whispered mirthfully. “Marvelous. You are much better at this than I thought.”

She shook her head, untangling herself from him. “I don’t even care,” she admitted.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Oh? So I was right. Your feelings towards him have cooled.” That was _interesting_.

“It’s hard to like someone who doesn’t respect you,” she muttered, staring into the fire. There was still a sliver of hurt there from the original wound of Sten rejecting her attempts to befriend him, but Zevran skipped over that. It wasn’t in either of their best interests to address it. If he convinced her that she had moved on, he could get closer to her.

“But you are not here to impress him, Warden,” he reminded her. “This is _your_ mission. You can handle it however you wish. The end result will be the same, I am sure.”

“Maybe.”

He could tell that was the end of the conversation.

They kept watch in silence until it was time for the next shift.

I∙CAN’T∙STAND∙THE∙SANDPAPER∙THOUGHTS

After breakfast she announced that they would be going into Redcliffe.

“ _Finally_ ,” Alistair sighed, though it came out a little louder than he thought.

Elena looked at him, her eyes flickering. “And you’re coming with me.”

The prince grimaced. “Why do I not like this idea that you are forming that we know nothing about?”

She ignored him. “Leliana, Zev, let’s go,” she commanded.

“Oh, wonderful,” Morrigan huffed. “Once again I’m left behind. Why am I even here?”

Elena’s response was almost instantaneous. “You can keep Sten company, since you fancy him so much.”

The witch opened her mouth to retort, but then closed it. There was no hint of emotion in Elena’s voice. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She looked to the qunari for an answer but he was as blank as ever.

A man named Tomas met them at the bridge leading into Redcliffe. He was panicked. He said something about things attacking them in the night, things coming from the castle.

“Lovely,” Elena smirked, rolling her eyes. “More magic. I’m really starting to hate mages.”

“I’m glad Morrigan isn’t around to hear you say that,” Alistair responded. “She’d probably turn you into a frog.”

“You say that as if I care.”

Alistair eyed her carefully. She had either really relaxed since Zevran joined (which Alistair still didn’t agree with, because who recruited the person that tried to kill them?) or she’d finally gone off the deep end and just stopped caring about everything. He hoped it wasn’t the latter.

“Do not worry my little turtledove,” Zevran purred. “If she turns you into a frog I will happily kiss you to break the spell.”

Alistair turned his nose up in disgust. “You’d kiss a frog?”

“I would if I got something out of it,” Zevran responded shamelessly. “Like a beautiful princess who would be so grateful I broke the curse she’d immediately ravish me.”

Ew. “You realize she’d probably have warts, right?” the prince informed him. “From being a frog?”

Zev shrugged casually. “Nothing a little ointment won’t cure.”

Alistair shook his head. “I am so done with you.”

Tomas looked utterly confused. “Um…Are you going to help us, sers?” They seemed more intent on bickering than anything.

“We don’t really have a choice,” Elena replied authoritatively, hands on her hips. “We need to get into the castle to see Arl Eamon.”

“The Arl is sick,” Tomas said as he motioned for them to follow him.“Even if this weren’t happening, it’d be impossible to talk to him.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Elena said suddenly, as if she were just recalling something important. “I forgot.”

Alistair looked halfway between wanting to strangle her and wanting to collapse from sheer disbelief. “You _forgot_?! You _forgot_ the Arl was sick?!”

“A templar told me in Lothering,” she replied casually. “He said something about the Urn of Andraste’s Ashes or something. It wasn’t important. He gave me a reward for returning his friend’s locket and ran off.”

The annoyance in his voice was clearly evident. “And you didn’t think that was the _least bit_ important?”

“Honestly Alistair, I was too busy trying to figure out ways to kill you slowly and methodically using only a piece of string.” She said it nonchalantly but there were razors on her words.

Zev saw no reason not to speak up. If nothing else, it’d be a chance for him to show that he was on her side. She needed to be fully dependent on him, after all. “How long is the string?” he wanted to know.

The prince was furious. He ignored Zevran and went straight for Elena.

“This is just like you!” Alistair shouted at her, garnering the attention of the villagers as they walked through town. “Just when I think you’ve actually gotten better, you revert back to being a spoiled, snobby little bitch who’s only interested in herself! And to think I was worried that Zevran would kill you! Now I wish he actually would have!”

Elena looked up from casually examining her nails. “Are you finished whining _Prince_ Alistair?”

Alistair’s face was a marvelous shade of red from his frustration. Zevran never seen a human turn that color before. He secretly wondered if he’d be able to replicate it later.

“You are impossible!” he said with all of the anger he could muster.

She smirked. “You’re right Zev. He’s extremely cute when he’s angry. I wonder if we can keep him like that.”

Alistair’s face went from red to scarlet to purple to some kind of brilliant berry color, all in the span of 30 seconds. “...I. Hate. Both of you,” he finally bit out.

Elena kept smirking. Zevran laughed.

THAT∙GRATE∙ON∙MY∙SANITY

Teagan was handsome, Elena thought, but in an old-fashioned way. He was polite at least, addressing her as “my lady,” as he should have. As all of them should have. She didn’t like being on a first name basis with her companions but they were bent on not catering to her.

Teagan told them they needed help defending the town that night. Alistair agreed for all of them, because the Arl was like his father and his life hung in the balance. Elena didn’t really care. She was tired of solving people’s problems. Just once she wanted to walk into a place that didn’t have a million problems they needed an outsider to solve.

She wasn’t even getting paid for this. Goodwill was a lost concept on her.

“Just let me do the talking,” Alistair said as they approached the mayor. “You have terrible people skills.”

She shrugged. “Be my guest.”

The mayor told them they needed to help bring up the soldier’s morale. They talked to the blacksmith, made some promises and bought new armor for Elena. She’d gone this entire time without wearing any, and if they were to battle tonight, she’d need some protection.

“You ruined my last set of armor you know,” she said to Zevran as she fastened her straps. “I ought to make you pay for this.”

“Sadly, my dear, I am poorer than a chantry mouse,” he announced dramatically. “But I can pay in other ways. Like kisses.”

“There he goes again,” Alistair muttered, rolling his eyes.

Elena had a better suggestion. “How about for the next month you let me use you as a footstool?”

The elf seemed thoughtful for a moment. “A footstool, eh? That is quite intriguing. I have never been a footstool before. Why not? It could be fun.”

Alistair threw his hands up in the air in defeat. “I quit.”

Their next mission was to talk to a veteran about joining the fight. It would raise the men’s morale, give them courage knowing that someone experienced was on their side.

“I must admit, I am quite curious about you being a footstool Zevran,” Leliana said as they approached the veteran’s home.

“I am too,” he agreed with his trademark amused smirk.

“You do realize it’ll probably get painful, right?”

“It is a possibility,” he agreed casually, “as it is with most things.”

“So then why did you agree to do it?” she asked.

“What is life without a little pain?” the elf replied, genuinely amused by the question. “I happen to enjoy a bit of pain every now and again. Besides, I am a man of my word. I promised to be whatever she desired, and she desires a footstool. As promises go, it is actually not a bad one to keep.”

“You are a very perverse person Zevran,” Alistair drawled.

His grin was positively incorrigible. “You do not know the half of it, my prince.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Would you prefer I call you “my bastard prince”?”

Alistair tried not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “ _Alistair_ is fine.”

“Ah, too bad,” Zev lamented. “I could have had a lot of fun with that one.”

The veteran wouldn’t answer the knock on the door. Elena checked to see if it was locked. Finding it was, she tried to pick it, but it wouldn’t open.

“I can get that for you,” Leliana offered just before Elena kicked the door down. The bard flinched at the sound of wood splintering violently beneath her boot. “...Um...never mind, I guess.”

“Wonderful,” the veteran huffed as they crowded into his small home. He was a dwarf, short and stocky as any other one she ever met. “You’re paying for that you know.”

Elena leaned down so that she could look him in the eyes. He looked _rough_ , like the kind of person you did not want to meet in a dark alley. “Join the army and defend this town,” she suggested. Her voice was calm, even. There was almost a rhythm to it, but it was hard to place.

The dwarf snarled at her. “And just who do you think…?!”

“Join the army,” she said again. She kneeled completely so that she was eye level with him. “Defend this town.”

The snarl in his voice turned into more of a warning bark. “Why should I?” he grumbled. “They never did anything for me here.”

“You live here,” she answered, her words suddenly syrupy sweet. “If they all die, you will be next.”

“I don’t owe them anything,” the dwarf answered groggily. It looked like he was trying to fight off drowsiness, but he couldn’t.

“They don’t owe you either,” she countered. “But you are fierce. You have your pride. Show them you are a force to be reckoned with. Show them that they don’t want to cross you. Join the army. Defend the town.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, nodding his head. “I should join the army. Defend the town. Show them. I’ll show them. Come on boys.”

She stood up and stepped out of the way, watching the dwarf and his hired thugs leave the house.

Alistair stared at her in disbelief. “...Wow,” he breathed, clearly impressed. “How...how did you do that? And when did you learn to kick in doors?”

The truth of it was that Zevran had been helping her brush up on her manipulation skills. Aside from fighting, they also did quite a bit of roleplaying. Zevran would lay out a scenario for her, and she’d think of ways to talk herself out of it. She was fairly good at it to begin with, but now her skills were becoming impressive. The elf knew that in time, she’d be even better than him.

“Persuasion,” Leliana answered. “Rogues rely on their wits in battle, on their cunning. I’ve heard of rogues who are so cunning they can convince people to do things they would not otherwise have done. They plant a suggestion in their head and make it seem as if it’s their idea. It’s almost like a form of mind control.”

Her words were based entirely on theory, and not fact, but Elena and Zevran weren’t going to correct her.

Alistair blinked. “Wow. I...didn’t know that.”

Zevran answered the second question.

“Trust me when I tell you it was no trouble for that woman to kick in that door,” he grimaced. “I have been on the receiving end of her kick. It was like having a bull headbutt me in the crotch. I am still not sure if I’m fully recovered.”

Alistair didn’t forget that she didn’t tell him the arl was sick. But he had to admit that as infuriating as she was, she was also very skilled and resourceful.

“So there’s more to you than a whiny, spoiled brat after all,” he said as he looked at her. “I suppose if you help us win this fight I can forgive you for being careless in telling me about the arl’s health.”

Elena rolled her eyes. “I’m not here to impress you Alistair.”

The prince shook his head. Back to square one.


	8. And the world's a stage

There were only a few minutes left before sundown.

Alistair paced while Leliana tried to console him. He had been beside himself all day. Zevran and Elena were both standing on one of the stone bridges that lead into town. The elf leaned up against the side of the bridge, legs crossed, looking nonchalant. Elena was on the other side, cleaning her nails with her knife. The templars and knights were having a discussion off to the side of them, each of them wearing the holy relics that the revered mother had given them.

Zevran watched Elena for a few moments. So far, he had enjoyed this little game. He found it amusing that it was so easy to get into her good graces. All he had to do was use the qunari. Poor Sten probably didn’t even know he was bait. He probably didn’t even know the girl had liked him. Zevran felt it was safe to conclude that even if he had known he probably wouldn’t have cared.

The air was still. It was the calm before the storm. But that was no reason he couldn’t have a little bit of fun with the girl. It was easy for him to see her weaknesses. She didn’t know how to hide her emotions. Place a little pressure on a sore spot and she’d start screaming - figuratively speaking of course. And he knew exactly where to press.

“I was not joking about the damage you did to me my dear turtledove,” the elf said suddenly, drawing her attention away from her nails. “I am having trouble with my normal...morning performance.”

She rolled her eyes. “You tried to kill me,” she reminded him.

“Yes but kicking a man down there, that is pretty low. I would never…”

“You tried. To kill me,” she repeated with a bit more force in her voice.

He faked being emotionally wounded. “Are you saying I deserved that?”

“You think?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed dramatically. “You are a harsh mistress. So cruel. Every time I observe how smart and sexy you are, I get happy. But then my body remembers being kicked and the important parts of me shrivels up. It is as if it is afraid to come out and play.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Zevran, you cannot _possibly_ think I’m going to fall for that,” she sighed. “Your lines are nothing short of flat-out ridiculous.”

His grin was nothing short of mischievous. “I seem to recall you not protesting nearly so much the other night in front of Sten. You cannot fake that kind of reaction my dear.”

The color that rose to her cheeks confirmed it. So she was attracted to him.

Not that he blamed her, because he was rather charming. But it was good to know.

She went back to cleaning her nails.

Zevran immediately went in for the kill.

“I am being serious now, turtledove.” He stood up and walked over to her, taking her knife from her so that she could only pay attention to him. “You really did hurt me.”

“I’m not apologizing for defending myself against an attempt on my life!” she huffed, snatching her knife back.

He grabbed her hands, pressing her back against the side of the bridge. “I’m not asking you to.” His tone and face were equally serious. “I don’t want you to. But the pain I feel is nothing compared to what your companions feel towards you.”

She stared straight into his eyes. Good. He had her undivided attention. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Do you think it hurts them to hear you berate them so? To treat them as if they are beneath you? Because it does.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t care.”

“Ah, but you do,” he disagreed. “You look at them all differently now. Ever since Sten told you how he felt about you, you’ve been watching them. You see the way they edge around you, the way they keep their distance, the outright contempt some of them have for you. You don’t like it anymore than I like talking to you about it.”

She opened her mouth to say something flippant, but then closed it. He was right. Why lie about it?

“You came from a world of immense wealth and privilege,” he said softly, watching her lower her gaze. “I understand. I’m not used to any of this either. All of this walking and bathing in rivers and catching and cooking my own food - it makes me ill just thinking about it. But I will make the best of it. I cannot take it out on anyone, because then my life is forfeit. And if you keep taking your feelings out on everyone, soon you may not have anyone.”

She shook her head. He thought she was disagreeing with him at first, but then he saw tears sliding down her cheeks. She was trying to get rid of them, but they caught the last stretches of light and color just before the sun went down fully. It made her dark skin seem even more brilliant somehow.

But he had no time to admire her attractiveness. Not when he was so close to getting her to melt down.

He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. Such sadness in her eyes, such raw, untempered emotion. It was all-consuming. It made his stomach flutter.

“I…” she started. She looked about ready to collapse and start crying uncontrollably. He half expected it, actually. But she didn’t. She kept her composure, pulling away from him and turning her back.

He thought that was the end of it. He’d hit a brick wall. Perhaps he’d broached the subject too soon. He’d have to find another way to get her to trust him.

Then she started confessing.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, wiping her face. “Maybe Sten is right. Maybe I shouldn’t lead. Maybe I should just...” Her voice trailed off.

He found his opening.

He turned her around and pulled her towards him. This time she didn’t pull away. They were nearly eye-level; he was perhaps only an inch or two taller than her. Not much difference, but it did make things easier.

He leaned her against the short stone wall of the bridge. Their bodies were pressed together. Even through their armor he could feel the uncertainty of her attraction to him. He didn’t blame her. He was _very_ pretty. It was hard to resist him, especially when he was pouring on the charm. Like now.

“The qunari is wrong,” he said with all the seriousness he could muster. “You are a born leader. You are a teryn. No one can take that away from you. You command them and they snap to attention. Your persuasion skills are powerful. But they will respect you more if you treat them as equals, not as servants.”

She nodded. She understood.

Normally he wouldn’t care how she treated her companions, especially since he was in her good graces. But he needed her to think he cared. It would make it that much easier to escape unscathed. Not that he didn’t enjoy being joined to her at the hip but he wasn’t staying with these people. They weren’t his cup of tea, and he had no intention of facing an archdemon.

“I really messed up, didn’t I?” she asked softly.

He happened to think she looked her best when she was completely vulnerable. She wasn’t frowning or hiding her features behind a smirk or a scowl. He could actually see what she looked like completely unhindered.

He smiled.

“It’s nothing that a little charm won’t cure,” he promised. “I have upset many lovers. Usually a few gifts will get me back into their good graces. Think of them as ethical bribes. I am sure, as a teryn, you are familiar with such things, yes?”

She laughed despite herself. She was so pretty. He had to admit it was rather jarring. Sometimes it caught him off guard, if only because he rarely got the chance to see it honestly, without the hinderance of dark emotion clouding over everything.

“Sometimes I really hate you Zev,” she confessed as she pushed him away from her. “You can’t ever take anything seriously.”

“What is the point of taking things seriously?” he asked as he closed the space between them yet again. “Would you rather I constantly frown and have a sloping forehead like the qunari?”

He drew his brow downward in a perfect imitation of Sten. She laughed again, but louder this time. It was so out of place right before a battle that it drew several looks of disapproval, but for him it was reassuring. Women didn’t laugh if there was no hope.

“Life is not meant to be taken seriously, turtledove,” the elf purred as his features returned to normal. “No one ever gets out alive anyway.”

The look on her face was one of both annoyance and amusement. “Damn it Zev,” she muttered, attempting to push him away from her yet again. “It’s sundown. We shou--”

He kissed her.

That was not a part of his plan at all, but the elf was both impulsive and a predator, and she was vulnerable. Those soulful brown eyes so full of tears, that spark of inexperience, that warm smile, that genuine laugh - he couldn’t help himself. She was just begging to be taken advantage of, and who was he to say no?

She was a lovely thing, needy and willing. She opened her mouth to him without any coaxing, relaxing, moaning as he explored and tasted her. He felt her get weak, so he shored her up, gripping her shoulders firmly as he kissed her. She simply yielded to him, giving him all the leeway he could ever want with her.

She was warm and soft. He had felt her skin before on many occasions, but always under scripted circumstances. The impulsiveness of the moment made her seem softer still. He could hear her pulse racing with desire.

Alas, he could not continue. The collective scream of the villagers brought them out of their romantic moment. There was a dark cloud coming down from the castle, and with it all the fear of the coming battle.

“Oh, right,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “The flaming undead.” At least they would be if they walked through the barrels of oil that they would blow up to keep them at bay. So unfortunate.

He pulled away from her, earning a dissatisfied whimper. He watched her lick the taste of him off her lips. As sexy as it was, they had to fight for their lives now.

He turned towards the fray and pulled out his weapons. Sex was always better after a battle anyway.

I’D∙RATHER∙NOT∙EVEN∙BE

Elena had a furiousness about her that Alistair hadn’t seen before.

He actually hadn’t seen her fight at all since her armor had been ruined. They had been keeping her away from any battles they came across, few though they were. He saw that she had some new moves. They were impressive. He wondered where she’d learned them. Had she always had it in her? Or had she been practicing when no one was looking?

Or perhaps she was just upset that her moment with Zevran had been interrupted.

He tried not to think about watching them kiss, because _ew_. Besides, they were in the middle of a huge battle. Thoughts like that had no place on the battlefield.

But they did work _very_ well together.

Their styles were similar, since they were both two handed rogues, but there were still distinguishable differences. While Zevran’s style was tempered with finesse and just a touch of savagery, Elena’s style was more calculating and brutal.

There was some elegance there, like the way she danced out of the way of some attacks, dodging and twirling, going for the weak spot on her opponent nearly every time. But she hadn’t Zevran’s experience or penchant for violence. His moves were like second nature to him, but hers were more forced, learned. She had yet to grow into her own style, but he could see that she was developing it, however slowly.

The most curious part was the way she and the elf sometimes played off of each other. It was as if they each knew what the other was thinking, and reacted accordingly. He saw them take out more than one skeleton with simultaneous swings of their blades. They frequently switched dance partners. They went back and forth, constantly moving, never standing still. The confusion that resulted among their enemies added to their success rate.

With enough practice, they could be a force to be reckoned with.

But he had his own partner in crime. Leliana was a great compliment to the templar. She often stood back, keeping the creatures from overwhelming him with her crossbow. When they crowded in on her, she switched to her sword. She sliced through them with as much righteous fury as he’d expect from a woman who lived in a chantry. He was grateful to have her by his side. She never left it through the entire night.

When dawn broke, the army cheered. Despite the hard battle, not one life had been lost.

They were sweaty and tired. Their muscles were sore and strained. But they were victorious.

“And now,” Teagan announced, “we can go into the castle.”

“No rest for the wicked, I see,” Zevran mused unhappily.

“That doesn’t really apply to us Zev,” Leliana said, giving the elf a tired smile.

He rolled his eyes. “Speak for yourself.”

Teagan took them up to the top of the hill near the windmill to explain his plan. Halfway through his explanation the arlessa came charging down the hill, calling his name. She stopped just in front of the Warden, interrupting their conversation and demanding that he return with her alone.

“Hello arlessa.” Alistair greeted her with a touch of meekness in his voice. “Remember me?”

She couldn’t hide her disgust. “Alistair? What are you doing here?”

That statement, and the way she said it, instantly put her on Elena’s list.

“He came to help,” Teagan replied. “Without him, no one would have survived the night.”

She didn’t even say thank you. She just launched into a story about how she needed Teagan to come back with her or more people would die. There was a demon, she said, and it was summoned by a mage who poisoned the arl and blah blah blah. Elena could tell the story was a ruse - or at least half of one. She read between the lines and came up with a summation fairly quickly.

“What is it you aren’t telling us arlessa?” she asked outright.

The arlessa was clearly offended. “I beg your pardon?”

“You are excused,” Elena granted. “Now answer my question.”

Her eyes lit up with righteous indignation. “How...dare you…”

“No, how dare you,” she countered, raising up to her full height. She wasn’t as tall as the arlessa, but she was still imposing, especially covered in the remains of the walking dead. “You don’t withhold information from the people who just saved your lands. And you don’t talk to Alistair as if he is somehow beneath you. Only I may do that. Like it or not, he’s of royal blood, and you will respect him.”

“Uh...thanks…?” the prince answered uncertainly. She had simultaneously complimented and insulted him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Elena ignored him. “Now what aren’t you telling us?” she asked again. “Be quick or we’ll walk right out of here and leave you to your fate.”

That made the arlessa blanch.

“No, please!” she cried out, clasping her hands together as if she were praying. “Please, I am begging you, you must help me save my son! Conner does not deserve to die. What’s happening isn’t his fault. Please help me. Help us.”

The moment of silence that followed was thicker than a stone wall.

“I’m doing this for your son,” Elena finally agreed. “Not for you.”

“Thank you!” she sighed, relieved. “Thank you! Come Teagan! We must go! Now!”

Before he left, Teagan gave Elena his signet ring, then told her how to get into the castle through the secret entrance. He explained his psuedo-plan to her, and reminded her that Arl Eamon’s life was more important that everyone else. “We’re all expendable,” he reminded her.

“Of course you are,” she smirked, waving him off.

He gave her a funny look. For a teryn she was certainly... _harsh_. “O...K…Good luck my lady. Alistair.”

Alistair waited until he was gone before he spoke up. “You know, you really didn’t have to defend me to the arlessa,” he said. “She’s never actually liked me.”

Elena rolled her eyes. “I gathered that.”

“So...why did you do it?” he wanted to know.

For some reason her smile was altogether wicked. “Wouldn’t you have done the same for me?”

He didn’t like the way she said that, but he appreciated the sentiment behind it. “ _Riiiiight_. Well thanks anyway. I mean it. It’s nice to know you care, at least a little bit.”

“I can’t help but feel like this is a perfect time for a spanking,” Zevran announced to no one in particular.

Alistair sighed heavily. “And now the moment’s ruined. Thanks for that Zevran.”

He gave Alistair his best smile. “Always a pleasure, my prince.”

THAN∙THE∙MAN∙THAT’S∙STARING

“Thank you,” Isolde said humbly, bowing her head. “You saved my son. You saved me. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“I wish we could do something for Arl Eamon,” Alistair sighed. All things considered though, he was glad it turned out this way too. He was proud of Elena for declaring she wouldn’t kill a child. Even though the march back to the Circle Tower was out of their way, it was the right thing to do.

“You can!” the arlessa insisted, her eyes brightening. “The Urn of Sacred Ashes can cure him! I am sure of it!”

“You want us to find this urn, I take it?” Elena concluded while she placed her hand on her hip.

She seemed generally nonplussed by the entire ordeal, including having to trek back to the Circle Tower to get the help of the mages. She hadn’t bitched at any of them in about two days. Alistair was impressed. And also a little worried.

“I know I have no right to ask this of you,” Isolde admitted humbly, “but please. If you can cure my husband…”

“I’ll do it under one condition,” Elena proposed.

The arlessa looked both cautious and worried.

“We get to spend the night within these walls.”

“Th-that’s it?” she stammered. “Oh...yes! Yes of course! We have plenty of room! Of course you can stay!” She was relieved that’s all she wanted.

“Oh, and don’t talk down to Alistair,” Elena added as an afterthought. “He’s still your prince, even if he is a little slow.”

The templar rolled his eyes. There was that insulting compliment thing she did. He didn’t know anyone else who could get his hopes up and dash them to pieces in one sentence. For her it was an art form.

“Of course,” Isolde agreed. “I’ll have my servants prepare your rooms.”

“We’ll need seven or eight,” Elena informed her.

“That is not a problem. I will have them ready for you within the hour.”

The sunlight seemed different as they stepped outside. Without the threat of imminent death, the town was resuming its normal activities. Elena was just glad she’d be sleeping in a real bed instead of on the hard ground tonight.

Alistair couldn’t hide his admiration as he spoke - despite the fact that she had just told the arlessa he was mentally challenged not minutes earlier. “I can’t believe you got her to agree to put us up for the night. You’re like...like a little magic being who grants people’s deepest desires.”

“Hmm, my powers must be on the fritz,” she mused. “I can’t seem to get you to shut up, no matter how hard I desire it.”

“Every time,” he sighed. “ _Every time_ I try to have a moment with you, you ruin it.”

She responded by reaching into her pack. After a few seconds she pulled out a small statue and threw it behind her. Alistair just barely caught it. “What...what is this?” he asked as he turned it over in his hand.

“It’s a gift,” she said, glancing behind her to catch his eye. “Never say I didn’t do anything nice for you.”

Alistair rolled it over in his hands. It was small and carefully carved. The details were very intricate. He could feel magic emanating from it.

He looked up to thank her but she was already gone. She and Zevran had already disappeared beyond the gate.

“I’m half expecting it to explode,” he confessed to Leliana as he stared back down at it.

“It’s not going to explode.” He looked up at her to disagree, but decided not to. She was smiling. She was _proud_.

“What’s with you?” he couldn’t help asking.

“She’s trying Alistair,” she replied. “Give her a chance.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He sighed, looked at the statue one more time, then placed it in his pack. How did she even know he would like it?

Maybe, deep down, she really wasn't as big of a bitch as she seemed.


	9. And the world's a faze

It was nice to sleep inside for a change.

Morrigan never thought she’d admit it, but she missed her little house in the middle of the wilds. At least it provided shelter. She was used to being outside, and sometimes preferred it, but sleeping in a bed was always better than sleeping on the ground.

“‘Tis nice to sleep inside for a change,” Morrigan admitted to Wynne as they lounged in front of a large fireplace. “Perhaps I will thank that shrill little troll for arranging this.”

Morrigan wasn’t trying to make friends with Wynne. She had been trained by the Circle. They had different views of magic and what was acceptable by humans. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t get along. It wasn’t like she was Alistair. Her healing powers were very useful, even if she was so old she exhaled dust.

And being put in the lap of luxury did make the witch a little more chatty.

Wynne responded to the witch by turning a page in her book. Morrigan was no picnic herself, but the healer kept her mouth shut. She had no desire to set her off, let alone start a conversation with her. She was an evil thing. She had no regard for anyone’s lives or anything that didn’t directly affect her.

She could see why she and Elena didn’t get along. On the surface they seemed similar, but Elena had saved the child at least. That proved that she wasn’t morally corrupt - just spoilt, like most nobles.

Morrigan agreed with Sten that the child should probably die. Wynne wasn’t upset with Sten for saying that - he was simply being practical. He was qunari after all. He could only view the world and all the situations they found themselves in from his own slanted perspective.

Morrigan, however, was human; yet she felt no kinship with anyone. Wynne knew that she would probably consort with demons if given a chance. She did not like the witch, but she would keep her thoughts to herself in an effort to keep the peace.

The mage reached out to pick up her glass of wine and brought it to her lips. It smelled strong and had an earthy taste to it. There was the tiniest hint of lilac and something spicy that she couldn’t place. It was surprisingly good wine. Elena had excellent taste.

But of course she did. She was a noblewoman.

She finished off her glass and poured herself another one.

She felt Morrigan eyeing her, watching her every move. “I see the servants are not hesitant to make sure we are comfortable,” the witch mused aloud.

Wynne put down the bottle. “If you are referring to the wine, I did not get this from a servant.”

Morrigan raised her eyebrows. “You stole it?” she guessed. “I did not think you would ever…”

“Elena gave it to me.”

That shut her up quick.

“And the book,” Wynne added as an afterthought. She saw Morrigan’s disbelief, but simply went back to reading. That should shut her up for the rest of the night.

IN∙THE∙MIRROR∙THROUGH∙ME

The library smelled of fresh and old leather, bound around new and aged pages. The mixture of parchment and ink was always a relaxing smell for the bard. For her, it was always a joy to go through any library, especially ones belonging to nobles.

They were looking for a book that would explain the statue that Elena had gifted him. They asked Wynne about it, but she said she hadn’t ever seen anything like it. The idea of asking Morrigan was brutally rebuffed by Alistair. Leliana couldn’t blame him. She was courteous to the witch, but after she expressed that Connor’s life wasn’t worth saving, she couldn’t stomach being around her.

Which may have been a bit ironic, since she didn’t feel that way about Sten, even though he shared that same viewpoint.

“I don’t think he has what we’re looking for,” Alistair sighed, running his fingers through his short hair. She wasn’t sure if that was out of habit or if he was doing a style check. He did have a slight obsession with his hair. To her, it was adorable.

“We’d probably have more luck in the Circle Tower,” she suggested.

He looked down at his statue, then back at the stack of books he’d gone through. He had no luck going through any of them. “You’re probably right.”

“He does have some interesting history and fiction though,” Leliana continued. She pulled a book off the shelf and thumbed through it. “This looks interesting. I think I’ll settle down with this one for the night.”

Alistair looked at her like she’d grown a third eye. “You’re going to read yourself to sleep? Why?”

“Mostly to drown out the noise of young lovers,” she giggled.

Alistair threw his hands up in the air in defeat. “They have been eyeing each other sideways since they kissed at Redcliffe,” he fumed. “They really just need to just... _purge_ and get it over with.”

Leliana’s laugh was glorious. “Did you just say purge?! You make it sound so _vile_ Alistair!”

His facial expression was the epitome of sour. “Well I really don’t know how else to describe it,” he admitted, “considering how disgusting I feel every time I think about having witnessed even a moment of it.”

“Oh Alistair,” she sighed, wiping tears from her eyes. “That was the best laugh I’ve had in ages.”

“I’m being serious,” he said sternly.

Her gaze and tone were equally admirable. “I know.”

He could feel himself blushing. Whenever she looked at him like that it _did_ things to him. It made him feel nervous and uncoordinated. “What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Where are you sleeping?” she asked.

“My room? It’s right next door to hers. Why?”

“Well I’m at the other end of the hallway. If you’re really concerned about not getting any sleep, you can always share with me,” she offered.

He just stared at her.

“Don’t like the idea of sharing a room with a girl?” she questioned. “Or maybe just sharing the room with me.” Her words were coy. Her tone was flirty.

He couldn’t find the words. “W-what?” he stammered. “No, I’m...I mean where would we...how would that…?”

Elena’s voice crashed in on their little moment, destroying it. “Could be both.”

He was both horrified and relieved that she had interrupted them. He had no idea how to answer Leliana without retreating under a table. “What are you doing in here?!”

She looked at him as if his surprise were unwarranted. “Looking for a book, same as you.”

Both of them watched her walk past them. She was wearing Alistair’s shirt, the one he gave her after her fight with Zevran, and nothing else. She looked tense.

She had _great_ legs, Alistair noticed. They were sculpted as finely as his statue. She did look rather glorious, even though he was sure it was inappropriate for her to be walking around someone else’s estate in nothing but a tunic. She didn’t seem the type to care though. Manners had gone out of the window for her long ago - if she ever had them to begin with. She was rebellious. She did as she pleased. Unlike Morrigan, it actually worked in her favor. In fact, it simply added to her allure.

His thoughts only made him blush even harder. He shouldn’t have been looking at her like that, especially since she viewed him as little more than comic relief.

He did wonder if Leliana would agree with him though. Her attraction to their benevolent leader hadn’t waned in the slightest. It had just been put on the backburner in favor of her attraction to him.

Did he just think that?

The templar felt the need to say something, or this awkward moment would engulf all of them. “Finished purging, are we?” he managed to quip.

Leliana tried to stifle her laugh. “From the look on her face I’d assume he didn’t do something right.”

Alistair was thankful she went along with the subject change, even though it was still horrifying. Still, the focus wasn’t on _him_ , and that was the point.

Elena pulled three books off of the shelf she was examining before she answered them. “What are you two children prattling on about?” She said it with the same disregard as a mother who was tired of listening to her children’s foolishness and endless questions.

“The horrid noises you and the elf have been making for hours on end,” Alistair drawled.

She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t seen Zevran since we got here.”

“Oh come on!” Alistair insisted. “You two went straight into your room and just started...making up for lost time! We didn’t even see you at dinner!”

“You didn’t see me at dinner because I was stalking around the castle, looking for things to steal,” she confessed. “I don’t know where Zevran went to.”

Alistair blinked in disbelief. “You were stealing from Arl Eamon?”

“More like getting better at my lockpicking skills. I didn’t find anything of real interest though. Just this.” She reached around her neck and pulled off a necklace, holding it out for them to see.

The prince’s gaze immediately softened. “...It’s...it’s my mother’s…” He snatched it up, fingering it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. For him it was.

“I...I can’t believe you found this,” he said in disbelief. “I...can’t believe the Arl kept it.” He looked up at her, his gaze both soft and bewildered. “I can’t believe you were actually listening to me.”

She shook her head. She wasn’t a monster, despite what the others thought.

“I lost my mother too, Alistair.” She grasped the books to her chest, looking down at the floor. “I’d give anything to have something of hers. I have our family sword and shield but it’s not the same as your mother’s necklace.”

Alistair looked down at his keepsake, then back up at her. There was that lost little girl that he kept catching glimpses of. She’d often show up when she thought no one was looking. To see her out in the open was rare. He could clearly see how sad she actually was, how defeated she really felt. But she didn’t stay.

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure the noise you heard was from some servants,” she said, meeting his gaze as she changed the subject. “I haven’t gone anywhere near the elf. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. My room is not even on this floor.”

Leliana looked intrigued. “Oh? Where are you sleeping?”

Elena shrugged. “I’m in one of Arl Eamon’s personal rooms.”

“I see.” The bard nodded, as if she fully understood what Elena was talking about.

The girl sighed heavily, like the weight of the entire world was on her shoulders. In a way, it was. She looked weary, as if at any moment, she would fall over. “I’m going to go try to get some sleep,” she announced. She put down all but one of the books, then headed for the door.

“Thank you, Elena,” Alistair said with all the sincerity he could muster. “I am very grateful to have this returned to me.”

She stopped in her tracks. For a moment there was nothing but silence.

“I don’t hate you, Alistair,” she finally said. That was it. She scampered off before he could even acknowledge her statement.

“Poor girl,” Leliana said empathetically.

“I feel like I did something wrong,” the prince admitted, turning to the bard. “Did I do something wrong?”

She shook her head. “No. That was her way of apologizing to you for everything.”

“I see.”

He put his mother’s necklace on, tucking it into his tunic. It felt like a piece of him had been returned. He felt relieved, elated, but guilty somehow. Guilty because his gift had brought him happiness, but made her remember things she still hadn’t dealt with.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked. “I mean aside from the fact that I probably just reminded her of everything she just lost. Or is that it? I feel like there’s more to it than that.”

Leliana picked up his statue and put it on top of her book. “She’s sleeping in the Arl’s room to isolate herself,” she explained. “She’s lonely.”

Alistair sighed. “Maybe...maybe I should go talk to her,” he offered.

She shook her head. “I don’t think she’s ready to talk.”

“There must be something I can do,” he insisted.

“There is.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You can read me a bedtime story.” She pressed her book into his hands. “It’ll make _me_ feel better.”

He blinked. “Are you being serious right now?”

“She will talk when she’s ready Alistair. Not before.” She stared at him, waiting for him to nod his understanding. “Good. Now come on. You can read me a couple of chapters at least.”

She led him back to her room.

CUT∙MYSELF∙FREE∙WILLINGLY

He remembered the last time he went sneaking down halls and through secret rooms.  
  
A familiar thrill spread through him. It’s wasn’t like he couldn’t make up an excuse if he got caught, but he didn’t want to be seen, period. He was in the Arl’s secret quarters after all. He’d have to be extra cautious.

He wasn’t at dinner. He told the servants he wasn’t hungry. Instead he had a good soak in the tub. He took a long bath and scrubbed everything, especially his hair. He hadn’t appreciated having darkspawn blood soaking into his scalp nearly every day since he’d joined their expedition. They smelled terrible. Even washing up in a lake or river didn’t help. He couldn’t _soak_. He needed to in order to get the smell out of his skin and hair.

When he finished, he oiled himself down, put on some clothes, then lounged around on the fine bed and sheets and wondered what mischief he could get into.

All the mischief he could think of involved the Warden.

He hadn’t forgotten that kiss. It lingered still, a constant reminder of what could have been. They hadn’t even acted on it while away from Redcliffe. It was straight to the Tower. The journey was grueling, but a boy’s life was at stake, and she pushed them forward, despite the protests of two of their teammates.

Being able to actually clean himself and sleep in a real bed was a great reward.

He’d have to hand it to Elena though: she knew what she wanted and she went after it. She didn’t let silly things like obstacles or verbal protests stop her.

He noticed that this time, both the qunari and the witch agreed that going to the Circle was a waste of time. Elena ignored both of them. She didn’t even acknowledge their displeasure. She just started walking towards the Tower. She didn’t even care if they were following or not. It was a moment of finesse that he knew she had learned from him. He was proud of her.

Overall, the adventure itself wasn’t so bad. He got to spend a lot of time with Elena. She was a good student, easy to teach and mold. It was almost a crime to take advantage of her. But, he reminded himself, it was just a game. He would only play it until he could find his way out.

Except now he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave.

Funny how they hadn’t even had sex but he felt some sort of attachment to her already. On the bridge, that had been part of the game. The kiss wasn’t. He thought it would just add to it, but it didn’t. It was a setback, one that he was still reeling from.

Yes, he was attracted to her. But for him it was no longer simply physical. She had many admirable qualities besides being pretty, ones her teammates didn’t see. She stuck to her guns, no matter what. She was brutally honest; she hadn’t lied once, especially not to him. Even at the risk of hurting feelings she spoke the truth, which was often the same as speaking her mind.

It was refreshing.

Aside from all of that, she _needed_ him. Sten had torn into her with his scathing remark about her inability to lead. He exposed her, left her out in the cold. He made her question everything, from her ability to do anything successfully to her self-worth. Zevran erased all of that. He shored her up, gave her confidence. He taught her all the things she had been lacking.

She was better equipped to survive now. She had been treating her companions better, which made their time together much less tense. He’d dare say these past couple of days they may have been relaxed. Tonight they were happy, because she had arranged for them to stay indoors in the lap of luxury.

All except for Sten, but nothing ever made him happy.

The Crows and past experience had taught him that it was every man for himself. Any camaraderie was temporary at best, easily betrayed or treated as a commodity. It was all about greed. Take what you could when you could get it. Give nothing back. Have no regrets. And he was fine with that.

But the way they all fussed over each other, fussed at each other, fought, and took care of each other showed him something more. It wasn’t anything sappy or ridiculous like friendship could endure anything. They weren’t friends. But they were teammates. And they were trying, at least, despite their differences.

They _needed_ each other, just like she needed him. They worked well together. Everyone played a part. They may have come from different backgrounds and had different personalities, but here, with her, they _belonged_.

He was no different. He belonged. He was needed. He wasn’t just something to be bought, sold or traded. He was something important to her. He was constant.

He hadn’t left her side since day one, and she appreciated that. The way she looked at him the past couple of days told him so. She needed someone reliable. She needed someone who would have her back, because this was all so new to her and it was scary and overwhelming. She picked him.

Zevran had never thought of himself as reliable, or anyone to be relied upon. But he supposed he could be. He could try, at least, as long as he was still with them. If he didn’t like it, it was back to his original plan of high-tailing it the second he got a chance.

Which he still might do, despite the warm and fuzzy feelings they collectively gave him.

Because he didn’t _do_ warm and fuzzy feelings. At least not for a prolonged period of time.

He slipped into her room, silently closing the door behind him. She was sitting up, slumped over with a book in her lap, asleep. He smiled. She looked completely inelegant. It was adorable.

He took the book out of her lap and placed it on her nightstand. Her short hair was still damp from being cleaned. It smelled like cinnamon. He leaned in close, brushing his nose over the top of her head so he could inhale softly. Poor girl. If she stayed like this, she would be unpleasantly stiff in the morning. He would straighten her out and tuck her in so she could sleep properly.

He planted a tender kiss on her forehead.

And suddenly found himself on his back with a knife to his throat.

Her eyes were wild, unfocused, hard. He wasn’t sure if he was looking at his Warden or some beast that inhabited her body. Either way, he didn’t want to die like this.

“Easy, my darling, easy,” he insisted calmly as she pressed the blade against his throat. “I was only going to tuck you in. Nothing more, I swear.”

The sound of his voice seemed to bring her back from the brink of some dark precipice that threatened to crumble under her weight. She blinked. “Zev?”

“Yes. I probably shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that. My apologies Warden.”

She leaned back and sighed, putting the knife back under her pillow.

He was glad that was over. He sat up and rubbed his throat, checking for any damage. He didn’t find any. That was good. He didn’t want to bleed unless he was getting something out of it.

“You have very quick reflexes my dear,” he admitted, watching her sit back. “They are almost impressive. I did not know you could move that fast.”

She didn’t even look at him. “What are you doing here?” She sounded tired, weary. Down to the bone. Down to her _soul_. “And why don’t you ever call me Elena?”

“Is that what you prefer?” he asked. “Every time someone says your name you flinch. I thought perhaps you didn’t like it.”

“It’s not my name that’s the problem,” she muttered with disdain. It was everything that it stood for: everything that she had lost.

“Come now my dear,” he smiled, settling down next to her. “You have been remarkable these last few days. They are warming up to you considerably. The gifts helped, but so did the lack of insults and general contempt for everything living.”

She smacked him with her pillow, but there was no strength or even malice behind it. It was halfhearted at best. He laughed.

“You’re not even supposed to be here,” she said. “I’m here so I can be alone.”

“Ah, but that’s part of the thrill,” he insisted. “The beautiful princess locked away in a hidden room. What man wouldn’t want to find her and fulfill her every desire?” To accent his statement, he pushed her her back against the pillows.

She gasped, but he ignored it. Instead he reached for her hand, turning it over so that her wrist was exposed. He could see her watching him from the corner of his eye. Watching, but not stopping. They were going to continue what they had started on the bridge, come hell or high water.

His attraction to her may have extended beyond the physical, but he was still a shameless manwhore.

He bent down to kiss her wrist, a gentle gesture that made her pulse flutter under his lips. Then a nip, just hard enough to elicit a gasp. A well placed lick had her hissing softly. She was so, so easy. “I told you I would be whatever you desire,” he reminded her between kisses.

He could feel her get _weak_. If she were standing she’d be boneless by now, a quivering mass of unmasked desire. It would have gotten that way on the bridge had the evil undead not crashed in on their party.

“...Zev?” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

He knew that tone. She was crumbling fast. That was good. He didn’t really feel like doing a lot of work tonight.

He carefully sucked at the tender flesh on her wrist. It was starting to bruise. “Hmmm?”

She swallowed hard. Her fingers flexed, impatient. She was trying so hard not to give in. She was failing. “Why did you kiss me?” she asked. “On the bridge.”

He moved up her arm, brushing her skin with his lips. He paused at the crook of her elbow. Such a sensitive spot. Ticklish if done wrong, an important part of arousal if done right. Of course, he always did it right.

As he nipped, kissed and licked his way up to her shoulder, he recalled their kiss. He remembered the way she went limp when he pressed his lips against hers, the way she immediately gave him all the power he could ever want over her. She had been so vulnerable and willing, and it was arousing. But that was not why he kissed her.

“You wanted me to,” he whispered, lacing his hand with hers. “Just like you want this right now.”

This time when he kissed her, it was heated and raw. There was no guess work to be done.

He had always been good at getting his point across in these sort of situations. He considered himself a master at his craft, and this all but proved it. She unraveled rather quickly; the last shred of her hesitance disappeared in seconds. Her touch was suddenly frantic and desperate. It felt good to finally have her touch him, to show him how she really felt. Her hands immediately went under his shirt, greedy to see what his skin felt like. Her fingers pinched and pulled during their exploration, earning groans from the elf.

She wasn’t exactly rough with him but there was some urgency in her touch. His skin was sinfully smooth, and it just made her want him even more. She came up for air, pulling his shirt off of him in the process. His body was covered in tattoos. She traced them as slowly as she could, but every time they dipped into the curve of a muscle or came across a sensitive spot, Zevran’s pretty eyes closed and he made an encouraging noise. In the back of her mind she wondered if that’s what they were there for: as a guide for his lovers. But it was a fleeting thought, one that was quickly replaced by the surge of desire he gave her when he kissed her again.

He helped her out of her shirt (why it had gravy stains on it was anyone’s guess) and underclothes, and pressed her back against the bed. Her skin was soft, unblemished, untouched. He paused to admire her for a moment. There were no scars, even from their recent battles. Fascinating.

She whined in protest at the lack of activity, making him smirk. He silenced her by licking and sucking a nipple while his opposite hand roamed down her side.

She was almost a work of art: firm in some spots, delightfully soft in others. It was as if her body were trying to catch up with itself. It was different, but not unpleasant. She was soft where she should have been. To him that was all that mattered.

When his fingers brushed between her legs, she lost it. She was too easy.

He slipped a finger inside of her, then another, working up a rhythm that both frustrated her and made her moan for more. This time he couldn’t help but groan with her as she came. Her walls closed in around his fingers, making him feel weak. She was so slick, and he had barely done anything. She was going to feel amazing.

But he wasn’t done with her quite yet.

Zevran was a tease. He kept going, working his fingers inside and around her carefully. He pressed and pushed just right, just enough so that she grasped the sheets and panted, clutching them and breathing as if they were her lifeline. If she were expecting another orgasm, however, she was going to be very disappointed. He only wanted her right there on the edge, as close to falling as possible without going over. It would put her entirely at his mercy.

Or so he thought.

Normally his lovers would be begging by now, surrendering complete control to him. But she was having none of it. When he didn’t satisfy her she bucked against him hard, switching her nails from the bed to his back. It was his turn to cry out, especially since she dragged them over his supple shoulders, causing rivers of blood to appear on his otherwise fine skin. She was _punishing_ him for teasing her.

He could work with that.

He worked his way out of his pants and kissed her again. It wasn’t apologetic, but he did promise to give her exactly what she wanted.

As soon as he was inside of her she relaxed and relinquished control to him. He tried teasing her again, going at a pace slower than she wanted, but she just bit down on his shoulder, leaving an ugly bruise. He responded by slamming into her (What was _wrong_ with her?) but that just made her sigh and relax again. It didn’t take him long to figure out she just wanted to _fuck_. She simply wanted the act itself, and nothing else.

He had her all wrong then.

He thought she had wanted to be held and comforted like a normal woman, but she was more interested in being dominated. How odd, but not unlike her. After everything he’d learned about her not being coddled during sex just made sense. This wasn’t anything like what he had planned, but he wasn’t going to protest.

He caught glimpses of her dark skin in the dying candlelight. She was a _glorious_ creature, even if she was a bit rough with him. He felt her bite his ear and he hissed, tearing away from her. There was more blood now; he could feel it trickling down his earlobe. He glared at her, then grit his teeth and redoubled his efforts. Why couldn’t she just say “Harder!” like a normal woman?

The exertion wasn’t without its own reward. He went deeper into her with every thrust, her cries spurring him on. As soon as he got the chance he pinned her wrists back, because damn it, he was not a scratching post.

But she was finally submissive, something that he rather enjoyed. As long as he kept up the pace she let him kiss, nip, lick and touch her wherever he liked. That was more what he was used to. He was no stranger to rough sex but this wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he thought to sneak into her room and sleep with her.

His body enjoyed it, at least. It wasn’t so hard or rough that he wanted to stop. She responded better to pain than pleasure, or perhaps the pleasure to be had in pain. She was _perverse_. He rather liked knowing that.

Soon the blurred lines ended for both of them. The intensity of his climax strained against every muscle in his body. He could feel her go rigid underneath him, gasping and panting his name. Normally he would relish in that but he barely had enough energy left to collapse on his side.

His heart was thundering in his ears. He reached up to feel the damaged appendage, finding it still wet. Elf ears were sensitive, delicate things. He hoped it was something that would heal. He didn’t mind having bruises from sex but his face and ears were off limits.

“S-sorry,” she panted, crashing in on his thoughts. “I wasn’t trying to be rough.”

“Rough?” he repeated breathlessly, quirking a fine eyebrow. “I could have sworn you were trying to kill me woman. You bit my ear like a mabari hound. It’s bleeding.”

“Sorry!” she exclaimed again, and her apology was genuine. She sat up to assess the damage. She winced when she saw it, then reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a health poultice. Applying it to his ear and shoulders made the injuries instantly disappear.

“I’ve never slept with an elf before,” she admitted sheepishly.

“I’ve never needed a health poultice after sex before.”

But his ear was fine. He smiled despite himself, and brought her in for a kiss. She seemed happy to be forgiven, smiling and ducking her head so that he couldn’t see her blush.

“You have not had many lovers my dear, have you?” he asked. “I cannot imagine very many men being able to handle that type of appetite.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that,” she admitted. “I just don’t trust anyone enough to sleep with them.”

So it was a matter of trust, was it? Good to know.

“Should I feel special then?” he asked, running his fingers lightly over her damp side. “I, myself, have a museum of lovers, both men and women. This will not be a problem, I take it?”

“As long as you can keep making me feel like that, I don’t care if you’ve slept with sheep.”

He laughed again and kissed her forehead. “I keep my lovers limited to those walking upright, my dear,” he promised. “But that does remind me of a funny story…”

She smacked him in the face with a pillow. “Keep it to yourself, Zev.”

“Of course, mistress.”

The way he addressed her sent shivers through her. He didn’t miss it.

This was going to be _fun_.


	10. And the end is near

He was _delightfully_ lithe. 

She traced his tattoos with a curious sort of reverence, careful of the bruises that she had sporadically left in their path. She found a bite mark or two here and there. She smirked when she came across them, and lightened her touch so that it would be especially delicate.

She didn’t even remember half of what happened last night. Everything after the first time was just a blur. There were a few distinctive moments that made her shiver in remembrance, but for the most part, the only thing she could recall was noises and movement.

She smiled as he arched into her touch. Her fingers were little, tiny enough to trace every detail, every curve, every valley in his flesh. They were slightly calloused but not at all unpleasant. He felt them slide down his thighs, eliciting a shameless moan.

“Again?” he chuckled, his voice tired. “Work, work, work!” He shifted onto his side so that he could face her.

“I’m pretty sure you’re running dry,” she smirked, continuing her exploration.

“Well I do feel a little exhausted,” he admitted lightly. “But I suppose I could go one more time.”

“Hmph. Don’t strain yourself on my account.”

She said it so flippantly, like it hadn’t meant anything to her. He was no stranger to casual sex, but last night wasn’t casual. It was an _event_. And after confessing she only had sex with people she trusted, he found it offputting that she could act like she had no trust him him whatsoever.

He eyed her off. “Your cynicism is startling,” he noted, blinking owlishly. “I wonder if you even know you’re using it half the time. It seems like a reflex.”

It _was_ a reflex.

She stopped altogether, sighed heavily and rolled over. She would have curled up into the fetal position if he hadn’t stopped her.

He quirked an eyebrow. “You are being moodier than usual. Not the reaction I’m used to after a night like that.”

A night where he got maybe 20 minutes of sleep at most. She was _insatiable_. He didn’t mind in the least. It was nice to test his limits, and he hadn’t had them tested that extensively for quite a while. But he could see himself passing out soon. He needed time to recover.

He draped himself over her, resting his forehead on her shoulder. He couldn’t even pour on the charm effectively. He was starting to wonder how he was still alive. “What’s wrong Elena?” he muttered against her maple skin.

She liked the way he said her name. She hated his accent at first but it was starting to grow on her. _He_ was starting to grow on her. That might have been a bad thing, considering the circumstances that brought them together.

Zevran was still an assassin. She knew she should keep him at arm’s length but she didn’t feel like struggling with manners, morals or common sense right now. Especially after he all but guaranteed her good mood over the next few days.

“My mother used to say that to me,” she explained. She sounded _exhausted_. “That I wielded my cynicism and wit like twin swords. It’s half of the reason I trained as a rogue.”

“Oh?” He settled back into the pillows, lazily stroking her hair. “What was the other half?”

“I enjoy getting knocked around a little. I can’t do that if I’ve got a sword and a shield.”

He laughed. “So your weapons have double meaning then,” he interpreted, staring at her admirably. “I like that.”

She rolled her eyes. “You would.”

He ignored her crankiness. She was just tired. They both were.

“And how is it that you got so good at persuasion?” he wanted to know.

“Being a noble is boring,” she admitted. She rolled over to rest her head on his chest. “It was hard not to think about how stupid and vapid they were every time they came around.”

“Yes, they can be rather irritating,” he agreed. “Especially in groups. Often times the power they wield seems too much for their vastly limited minds.”

She actually laughed. “You sound like you know what I’m talking about.”

“I do. I have loved many nobles, and they were all very much the same. There were maybe...three exceptions.” She being the most notable one, but he was too tired to say so right now. Sleep was pulling at him.

“Easily manipulated,” she continued, watching him close his eyes. “Like toy soldiers.”

He managed a grin. “Oh you are _wicked_ , my dear.”

So he _did_ know. She smiled. She didn’t need to go any further then.

“But you know your companions are not the little toys you’re used to playing with, yes?” he prodded gently.

She groaned and rolled over, moving away from him. Not this again. “I’m _trying_ Zevran!”

And they had such a nice night too.

“Did I say you were not? Tsk. Don’t be that way my darling Warden,” he pleaded, drawing her back towards him. “I’m still your teacher, remember? It’s my job to remind you of these things.”

She wanted to pout but she found she didn’t really have the energy. If sleep was pulling at him, it was _smothering_ her. “You’re also my footstool,” she added, with no small amount of disdain.

He chuckled lightly. “Ah, yes, that.” He dropped a kiss on her shoulder and curled around her, pulling the covers over both of them. “That will be interesting. But we should try to get some sleep. Unless you want to go again.”

“Another time,” she muttered dismissively.

He was glad for that.

STOP∙JUST∙WHAT’S∙KILLING∙ME

Alistair watched both of them yawn simultaneously, covering their mouths with the back of their hands. They were both fighting the urge to collapse. He didn’t know what was stopping them. They were hanging on to consciousness by a thread.

They had been dragging all day. They slept late, which delayed their departure, but Isolde didn’t seem to mind. If she did, she didn’t say anything.

He did see the disapproval in her eyes when they both showed up looking like they’d gotten into a fight. Zev had _bite marks_ on his neck and bruises everywhere. Elena’s upper arms were spattered with dark blue and purple markings, and her collarbone looked like someone had tried to peel the skin away from it to get at it.

“I trust you slept well?” the arlessa asked coolly.

“ _Marvelous_ ,” Zevran drawled as he tried to work a kink out of his neck. “That is until the maid came in and started shrieking.”

“I’m sure your presence simply startled her,” Isolde said smugly.

“I’m sure that was it,” he agreed blandly. Next to him Elena looked like she was _swaying_. She grabbed hold of the elf to steady herself, eliciting a pained hiss from him.

“Sorry,” she muttered, shaking her head as if to clear away the dizziness.

Isolde gave them ample supplies before she sent them on their way. Elena was so out of it that she didn’t even thank the arlessa, so Zevran did it for her.

“My mistress would convey her appreciation, but as you can see, she isn’t feeling well. I’m sure she would thank you herself if she could.” His tone was smug, _oily_. It had a double meaning that Alistair didn’t get, but apparently Isolde did. And she didn’t like it in the least.

“Perhaps she would be in a better condition to appreciate my hospitality if she hadn’t been preoccupied with her _servant_ ,” she shot back, though she did manage to maintain her composure.

Zev took the insult in stride. “Mmm. I admit she is a bit needy. Fortunately for me I am _more_ than a bit willing. I can’t really ask for more than that as an elven servant, can I?”

Isolde huffed and sent them on their way.

And now that he thought about it, there was an entire sub-context there that he had missed. But he was too busy watching them drag behind Bodhan, Sandal and their cart all day. He just wanted to make sure darkspawn didn’t snatch them up and eat them. Neither of them were exactly alert to what was going on.

Leliana was making a stew now, and it smelled positively divine. She had peeled and cut up some of the vegetables she’d gotten from the Arl’s garden. Alistair and Sam had gone hunting and brought back some wild game that they were roasting over the fire. Wynne was making something called skillet bread over a bed of low-burning embers. They were going to eat like kings tonight. Kings on the road, but still kings.

Still, the prince couldn’t shake his curiosity. The party refused to discuss it or acknowledge it on the road. It was as if something unsaid hung over them. Now that they were relaxed and ready to eat, he’d bet they would be more willing to talk about it. He decided to broach the topic delicately.

“I still can’t believe she talked Isolde into supplying us for our journey,” Alistair said to Leliana. He tried to keep his voice casual. No snooping here. Nuh-huh.

“She’s quite adept at convincing people to do whatever she wants them to do,” Leliana agreed. “It’s almost scary.” She sniffed the stew. It didn’t have the strong smell that she wanted, so she sprinkled some more spices into it.

“It’d be scary if she used it on us.”

“True.”

He looked back over at them. Zevran had finally given out. He had just collapsed on the ground next to Elena, breathing softly. Elena looked about ready to do the same. He didn’t know how she outlasted the elf. She was in much worse shape than he was.

“Now what are you worried about?” the bard asked, placing her hands on her hips.

“What? Nothing,” he said quickly, turning back towards her. “She just...looks so tired. She’s been moving slower than the walking dead all day. I thought she would have gotten at least _some_ sleep last night. Those beds were wonderful.”

“They were very nice, weren’t they?” she agreed. “But I suspect it wasn’t the bed that kept her up all night.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“She means it was probably Zevran,” Wynne answered for the bard.

Leliana’s tone was more than amused. “Thank you Wynne.”

He blinked again. Suddenly all the pieces were falling into place: the marks all over both of them, the lethargy, the snide dialogue Zev had with Isolde that morning. “Oh. ...Oh, _ew_!”

“I would think _you_ would be happy about that Alistair,” Leliana noted as she tasted the soup. “He hasn’t said a word all day. Which is amazing, because walking and fresh air usually gives you energy, but for them the effect is quite the opposite. They must be running on empty.”

“ _Ew_!” Alistair exclaimed again. “Oh Maker, I wish I hadn’t have asked.” Just the thought of them...ugh he could feel the bile rising in his throat.

“I, for one, am very grateful that someone finally shut him up,” Wynne admitted. “I didn’t have to hear him making comments about my bosom.”

“Oh that’s just gross,” Alistair blurted out. Leliana glared at him. “No offense Wynne,” he added hastily.

She shook her head. “None taken. I agree. I am too old for such things.”

“He just says those things to get a rise out of you Wynne.” Leliana paused to test the consistency of her soup before she continued speaking. “I doubt he actually means them.”

“Oh, he means them,” Alistair disagreed, disgust creeping into his voice. “Apparently you’ve never been on the receiving end of his undivided attention.”

“Well hopefully Elena will keep him occupied.” That was the last they would all say on the subject. He was glad for it.

“Soup’s done,” Leliana announced. “How’s your bread coming Wynne?”

“It’s just about finished,” the old mage answered. “How’s the meat Alistair?”

He carved off a small piece. “It looks like it’s ready.” But the true test would be the taste. He slipped the sample into his mouth. “Mmm. Tender. Yes, it’s done I think.”

“Then I’ll go tell everyone else to join us,” Wynne volunteered.

As she walked away to gather the rest of their group, including the two dwarves (but skipping the two lovers, who were both dead to the world), Alistair helped Leliana pull out their utensils. “There’s more than enough for everyone,” he told her. “Maybe we can even get seconds. I haven’t had seconds in a while. Or thirds. Or sixths.”

“You do not eat that much,” she giggled.

“Out here we’re on rations, but if we had a larder, I’d live in it,” he assured her. He watched her reach into her own pack and pull out a bottle of wine. It was unmarked, save for a symbol carved into the cork. “Where did you get that?” he asked.

“From the Arl’s estate,” she smiled. “They had a lovely wine cellar. I figured they wouldn’t miss a bottle or three.”

“You...stole it?”

She tweaked his nose in response. “Call it payment for services rendered.”

He stared at her owlishly.

“Don’t look so troubled Alistair,” she laughed. “Unlike you, I wasn’t raised in the Chantry.”

He could feel  himself blushing yet again. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He wasn’t sure how he felt about _her_.

I∙FEEL∙IT∙EVERYDAY

Elena stretched luxuriously as they walked along the road. She felt a lot better. She had been sleeping very well the last few nights, despite the fact that they were outdoors. In fact, she was starting to like sleeping outside. The ground was an unforgiving bed but there was nice conversation to be had and wonderful stories to be told. And stars. So many stars. She had never noticed how beautiful they were before. She had spent too much of her life indoors.

Her relationship with each of her companions was slowly improving. She’d had a conversation with each of them nearly every night. She was learning quite a bit about them. It made it easier for them to talk to her when she surprised them with gifts. They were more willing to relax and open up to her.

The only person she couldn’t seem to get to was Sten (and Morrigan, but she didn’t really care about her). She couldn’t broach any type of conversation with him. He was just a waterwheel, as Zevran liked to call him. All conversations with him wound up going nowhere. Last night she decided to just give up and let him be.

Zevran kept her occupied. He was her constant, the one thing she looked forward to every day. His teasing and witty banter with his teammates were an endless source of amusement for her. She really liked it when he mocked Leliana about her vision. He said all the things to her she wouldn’t say, and it always made her chuckle when the redhead flustered.

Despite her growing fondness for the elf, she hadn’t slept with him since that night in Redcliffe. She was giving him a break. She did do quite a bit of damage to him, so she was allowing him time to recover. But once they got to Denerim, all bets were off.

They were halfway to Denerim to check on Brother Genitivi's whereabouts. Alistair was making Leliana laugh, as usual. Morrigan had taken to flirting with Sten again, but he was barely responding. Zevran remained by her side, occasionally offering commentary on Alistair and Leliana’s conversation. Elena felt less like she had to keep an eye on the assassin and more like he was keeping an eye on her.

Wynne and Sam guarded the rear. Wynne seemed to be extremely tired lately, but every time Elena asked if she needed rest, she would insist she was fine. She made a mental note to watch out for her. Maybe she was too old to be traveling like this. Maybe she could ride in the cart with the dwarves’ goods. Maybe she should go back to the tower.

“Alistair is talking to you mistress,” Zevran said gently in her ear. The way his lips and breath danced over her cartilage made her shiver.

“I’m sorry Alistair,” she apologized, glancing back at him. “I was thinking about something.”

Zevran’s grin was salacious. “Something impure I hope.”

“No. No, no, _no_ ,” Alistair insisted indignantly. “Please don’t start that. It’s bad enough watching you two make puppy dog eyes at each other all day.”

Leliana laughed. “They don’t make puppy dog eyes at each other!” she exclaimed, flicking his ear. “You’re imagining that!”

He glared at her. “No I am not! Look, they’re doing it right now! Then tonight after we make camp they’re going to sneak off and purge again.”

She laughed again, louder this time. “Alistair, I swear the way you think is _fascinating_!”

“I think you mean ridiculous,” Elena corrected with a smirk, but she was amused too.

“I assume by purge, you mean sex,” Zevran guessed, “in which case I must correct your thinking: the Warden and I are not sleeping together.”

The templar rolled his eyes. “Oh you are such a liar.”

“I would never lie about sex,” the elf said seriously. “Especially with someone so fiery. Elena prefers I occupy her time in other ways.”

“You mean like being her footstool?” Leliana guessed.

“That is actually not so bad,” he admitted, his tone turning light. “I get to sleep, she gets to put her feet up. Everyone’s happy.”

“Then what do you do when you sneak off away from camp every night?” Alistair asked.

“Now that, my dear prince, _is_ a secret,” he purred, grinning at Elena. “And as I promised my mistress, my lips are sealed.”

Elena stretched again, folded her arms behind her head and looked up at the sky. She knew this budding harmony probably wouldn’t last, but at least it muted her pain.

I∙FEEL∙I’M∙IN∙MY∙WAY

The real Weylon was dead, and Brother Genitivi was missing.

“Marvelous,” Elena sighed, running her fingers through her hair. She paused to repeat the action, frowning at the results. It was a lot longer than she realized. She almost had enough to make a ponytail. She would need to remedy that immediately.

But her hair wasn’t important right now. They needed to find Brother Genitivi so they could ask him about his research on the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Personally she thought it was a myth, but she was willing to risk it. She needed Arl Eamon alive and well. She needed his help to fight the archdemon.

“Hey, look at this,” Alistair announced, drawing her attention towards him. He held up a note. “It says he may have found the location of the Urn. He went to some town named Haven. Guess that’s our next stop.” Leliana took the note from him and began comparing it to their map.  

Elena sighed yet again.

“We’ll head out tomorrow,” she promised. “We need rest and supplies.” And she needed a haircut, damn it.

“We will need a lot of supplies,” Leliana informed her as she examined their map. “According to this, Haven is in the Frostback Mountains.”

If it wasn’t one thing it was another.

“What should we do?” Alistair asked.

Frustration was beginning to sink in. She knew that he didn’t mean anything by the question but she was tired of being the leader. Alistair was a prince, damn it. _He_ should have been leading them. _She_ should be the one asking _him_ dumb questions.

She took a deep breath, exhaled, then spoke.

“What do _you two_ think we should do?” she asked.

The look of disbelief on their faces was priceless.

She had never asked them what they thought about any of her decisions. She simply made them and expected them to follow orders. Even if they didn’t agree with her, she didn’t care. She still expected them to follow orders, because she was in charge. So it came as a surprise that she outright asked their advice.

Leliana was the first to recover, having realized Elena was not having them on. “I think you’re right about resting and resupplying,” she agreed as she put away the map. “Maybe we can even find a place to stay and eat, and get Wynne and Morrigan some new gear.”

Elena nodded. “That sounds fair.”

“I can make a list of the things we’ll probably need,” Alistair offered helpfully. “And...maybe you and Zev can find us some rooms.”

He said it with such hope. Elena knew he was expecting her to berate him. Instead, she surprised him by agreeing with him. Though his lack of responsibility grated on her nerves, she was trying not to be that person anymore. It was hard, but she was enjoying the peace. She didn’t want to ruin it. She had enough problems to deal with.

Like her damn hair.

Zevran smiled at Alistair’s suggestion. “That will be easy,” he said cheerfully. “We’ll just go to the local whorehouse.”

The templar’s mouth fell open in shock. “What? No. No, no, no, no, no, no, _no_ . _We_ are _not_ sleeping in a _whorehouse_.”

The elf looked genuinely confused. “Why not? It’s often the cleanest place in the city - aside from the Chantry. It certainly has the biggest, most luxurious beds.”

“When I said find rooms, I meant find a tavern,” Alistair explained, “ _not_ a house of debauchery.”

“It’s pretty much the same thing,” Zev countered knowingly. “One just smells like liquor.”

Elena decided to interject before Alistair collapsed from a combination of embarrassment and frustration.

“There are a lot of us,” the Warden admitted. “The tavern might not have room for all of us. Unless you want to double up and share rooms. Then we’ll only need four instead of seven.”

“Who gets to room by themselves?” Alistair asked.

“Sten,” Leliana said almost instantly. “He needs his own space.”

“He is rather massive isn’t he?” Alastair agreed. “OK, we can double up.”

“Great,” she smiled, clasping her hands together in front of her like a patient little girl. “You can share a room with me.”

The color his face turned was nothing short of glorious. “Um…”

“It’s either me or Zevran and Elena.”

“I’ve never been much of a voyeur,” Elena admitted coyly as she wrapped a lock of hair around her finger, “but I suppose I wouldn’t mind him watching.”

“I certainly wouldn’t,” the elf purred as a wicked grin spread across his face. “It’d be incredibly sexy. Maybe we could even get him to join in.”

Alistair shook his head vehemently. _Nope_.

“OK, alright, fine,” he said to the bard hastily. “I’ll share a room with you. But no funny stuff.”

Leliana giggled. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Putting my hand in a cup of warm water to make me pee on myself. That works, you know. I did it to Duncan once. He was not happy.”

She laughed again. Elena noticed she laughed a lot around Alistair. She also noticed the way she looked at him when he wasn’t looking. She _admired_ him. It was actually rather cute.

“I wouldn’t be happy either,” Leliana admitted as she took him by  the arm. “And that’s rather horrid of you Alistair. How could you do that to someone you care about?”

“I know, I know,” he laughed, “but I _really_ didn’t think it would work. He was so furious at me, I thought he was going to put me on the rack. You have no idea what it took to get back into his good graces.”

She beamed at him. Being a bard, she liked stories, but she had a soft spot for the ones Alistair told. He was so animated.

“You can tell me all about it while we go deliver the news to the others and go shopping for supplies,” she assured him as she led him towards the door.

“Oh, wait, wait!” Alistair stopped to reach into his pouch. He pulled out 20 sovereign and gave it to Elena.

“Here. This should get us our rooms and some food. You can keep whatever is left over. Just...don’t tell anyone. I don’t want mass anarchy or people thinking they’re supposed to get an allowance just because they’re travelling with us.”

Elena was a little surprised, but accepted it all the same. There would be enough to get a haircut after she finished paying for everything. She almost kissed him. “Thanks Alistair.”

“No problem. Now you two crazy kids have fun. No purging. We’ll meet you outside this house in two hours.”

“You’re a good sibling,” Leliana said as they left the house. “Even if you are a little overprotective.”

“You know, having a little sister isn’t all that bad,” he admitted. “It has its perks.”

Elena felt tears stinging her eyes. Alistair was far from Fergus, her brother, but the gesture did remind her of something he’d do. Just a little. Just enough to shed a few tears over the last moment they had together the night her family died.


	11. So push rewind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being patient with me. This is still a massive work in progress. This is a big game. I had to take a break from playing it so I wouldn't get burned out on it or this fic. 
> 
> Here are the next to chapters. Thanks for reading.

 

Wynne was glad Zevran and Elena agreed to let her have their room at the tavern. She was exhausted, and she did not feel like sharing space with Morrigan. She just wanted to rest.

Sam, Elena’s mabari hound, had taken quite a shine to her. She didn’t mind so much. He was a good and loyal creature. She bathed him the night after she had joined the group, which he hated, but at least she no longer smelled him. War dog or not, no one should smell like week-old darkspawn corpses. It was horrendous.

After the initial scrubbing his cleanliness was easy to maintain. She made sure to get him in the water as often as possible. Even if she didn’t wash him, she still made sure to get the blood and guts off of him. It was a minor annoyance, but it kept her busy.

He rewarded her with near constant companionship. She suspected he knew she wasn’t well, and was simply being protective of her. She didn’t mind. It was nice to have someone care, even silently.

She settled into the bed, and he laid down on the floor next to her. She wondered if he missed the constant companionship of his mistress. Perhaps he was just waiting for Elena to need him again. Or perhaps he was being her eyes and ears while she was busy discovering herself.

Either way, she was grateful.

I∙FEEL∙IT∙SWELL∙UP∙INSIDE

Elena was more than happy to give up their room at the tavern. Wynne needed rest and space, and she wouldn’t force anyone to room with Morrigan.

She told Sam to keep a close watch on the motherly mage, and come find her if anything went wrong. Wynne was sick. She saw it in her eyes. She didn’t want to confront her about it, but she knew it was true. She would have to find the right moment to ask her about it in private. Perhaps tomorrow night when they made camp.

She and Zevran moved to a room in the Pearl. He was right: it was _very_ clean. It was also luxurious. There was a heated stone tub in the corner with fresh water in it. The bed had silk sheets on it, and so many pillows she felt she would drown in them. It was large enough for at least two of Sten - who had been awfully quiet lately. She’d almost forgotten he was there.

And maybe that was the point.

If she had learned anything from her training with Zevran, it was to watch her back. She should have applied the council to him, but the elf was so bloody charming it was hard to remember he had nearly killed her. She was letting him get closer and closer, playing his game as if she had no clue he was trying to manipulate her. Only now, she wasn’t sure either of them still considered it a game.

They ran into Isabella while they were heading to their room. She was a saucy thing. Elena immediately picked up on the fact that she and Zevran had a history together. She had been part of his “museum of lovers” he mentioned before. The pirate queen wasn’t impressive to her, but Zevran didn’t seem to be the type to be all that picky about who he slept with.

She felt she should be insulted by that, but she simply couldn’t muster the emotions.  

She watched them exchange snide remarks. Then he introduced her as his mistress and the Grey Warden he was travelling with. Isabella made a comment about Zevran’s uncanny ability to weasel his way into the most opportune situations. Zevran said Isabella was a very good fighter. Elena inquired about her skills.

She called herself a duelist and said she could teach Elena what she knew. Intrigued, Elena played her game. One could never have too many fighting skills.

After the lesson Isabella flirted a bit with her. Elena had never been curious about other women, nor did she see herself ever developing a taste for them. She politely declined her invitation to share her bed, thanked her, and walked away with the Zevran.

She thought she heard him say something to the effect of Isabella being a bloodsucking leech as they headed back to their room. She wasn’t sure if that was _exactly_ what he said but she was pretty sure that whatever he said was insulting.

She quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t you sleep with her?”

“I did,” he admitted, winking at a whore as they walked past. “And I killed her husband. Both were fun. But that doesn’t change her nature.”

She thought it was an odd comment to make about a former lover, but she supposed that was what happened when you had sex with people you may or may not trust.

He ushered her into their room, which hadn’t cost nearly as much as she thought it would. Or perhaps it did, and she didn’t think it was expensive, because she was used to having a lot of money.

Sanga, the proprietor, had offered them something that wasn’t currently occupied. She and Zevran both asked if she wanted a playmate for the night, but Elena declined. She didn’t like strangers in her bed. She’d thought the elf would remember that but why would he? He was a whore himself. This place was like second nature to him. It was just a tiny bit unnerving, especially since there was a male dwarf walking around in women’s clothing. She tried hard not to stare.

Their room was huge and _pink._ The pink was offset by royal purple furnishings and gold decorations. She didn’t want to think about all of the stuff that may or may not have happened in here. Brothels were a new experience for her. She wasn’t so prudish as to protest being there like Alistair, but it was something she needed to get used to.

He sat her down on the floor near the fireplace. She watched him sit down next to her and start going through his pack. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Looking for a pair of shears,” he responded nonchalantly.

Was she going to enjoy this? “What for?”

“So I can cut your hair.”

Oh.

She ran her fingers through her hair, slipping them over a particularly long lock in the back. “How did you know I wanted my hair cut?” she wanted to know.

“I saw you fingering it earlier in Brother Genitivi's house,” he admitted. “The look of disgust on your face was adorable.”

He said she was adorable. For some reason she couldn’t stop herself from blushing.

She’d gotten plenty of flattering compliments before, but she had never put much stock in them. It was normal for nobles to throw empty words at each other. It’s how they gained each other’s favor. She learned very quickly to determine who was being sincere, who was being polite, and who just wanted to be in her good graces. That compliment was sincere.

“Hold still darling,” he instructed. “This will only take a few minutes.”

He had a comb in one hand and shears in the other. He dropped to his knees behind her and began to carefully trim and cut her hair. She remained perfectly still, especially when he got around her ears.

Strands of golden blond hair fell like snow onto her shoulders and back. She always thought it was odd that she was so dark, yet her hair was so light. It had been one of the reasons she’d been attracted to Sten. His white hair was the perfect complement to his severe features. She had always found the color of her hair to make her look more comical than attractive, but no one else had ever voiced a similar opinion. She tried not to think about it.

“There. Finished,” he announced. He put his tools down and presented her with a mirror. “What do you think?”

She examined it closely. No mistakes. No missed spots. No accidentally nicked skin. He was really good. “It’s perfect.” It looked just like she wanted it to. She didn’t even have to give him instructions on how to do it or what she wanted. Somehow he just knew.  

He grinned. “You sound surprised.”

“Well I didn’t know you could cut hair,” she admitted, looking back at him. What would even make her think he could?

“How do you think I keep my hair just so?” he wanted to know. He offered her a hand to help her up off the floor.

“That makes sense,” she said as she took it. She never really thought about it, but someone had to be cutting his hair. Who was cutting Alistair’s hair, for that matter?

“I am a man of many talents my dear,” he said, his voice as smooth and even as the silk sheets on their bed. “I can also give you a tattoo, if you like.”

She looked at the one on his face, then shook her head. No way. She liked being flawless, although she wouldn’t discount it entirely. “Maybe later.”

“I just may hold you to that,” he promised. “Now then, let’s not waste this beautiful atmosphere. Into the bath with you. I will join you as soon as I put everything away.”

Taking off her armor felt like a chore, but she managed to get out of it rather quickly. It felt like she was peeling a heavy layer off of her skin. It fell to the floor like heavy stones. She always felt relief when she came out of it, but tonight she felt more of it than usual.

The bathwater was hot and the stones were smooth. She immediately relaxed. Breathing the warm air made her want to sink deeper into the water, until it covered her head. Why didn’t they have stone baths in her castle? She could have used something like this, especially after dealing with those moron nobles for an extended period of time.

After a few minutes Zevran sank into the tub behind her. “Look at you,” he announced admirably, running his fingers along her shoulder blades. “You are very different than the soft creature I tried to kill. You are quite beautifully defined.”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you mean?” She was learning to ask that, instead of being accusatory by demanding what it was _supposed_ to mean.

“I mean you have muscles, my dear Warden. And they are quite tense.” His fingers and hands kneaded her flesh as he spoke, travelling from her lower back to her shoulders and down her arms.

“I had muscles before,” she scoffed, but it was half-hearted. His hands felt good on her skin. She was sore in places she didn’t even know she had, and he knew how to apply exactly the right type of pressure to get her to moan, give in and relax.

“Mmm. Perhaps just barely. I remember. You were more...delicate. As a noblewoman is expected to be.”

She snorted. He was undoubtedly right about that.

She could fight fine. She was required to learn how. How could she defend her family’s lands if she wasn’t trained to do so? Her mother was an archer. Her father and brother were both warriors. She couldn’t just sit around and be the pretty one.

However, he was right. She couldn’t train as frequently as she wanted to. Her mother said it would make her too aggressive. She was a noblewoman, not a soldier. She was supposed to be entertaining, graceful, feminine. No nobleman wanted a wife who was a better fighter than he was. A woman was supposed to complement a man after all. Her strength was not outside, but inside.

And she was none of those things.   

“A point of contention?” he guessed, breaking up her thoughts. “Let me guess: your mother made you stop training because your hips were not wide enough and no man wants a woman that isn’t feminine.”

“Not so much,” she answered, “although she really didn’t like me training with the militia. She said I was already too rough around the edges.”

He chuckled lightly. “Rough around the edges?” he repeated, tracing a finger delicately along her jawline. “That sounds about right.”

She drew her knees up to her chest so she could rest her forehead against them. She was tired, and his presence was both comforting and lulling. “So you think I’m rough around the edges too, then?”

“I think you are you,” he replied, pulling her towards him. “And you are quite a marvelous creature.”

She settled into his embrace.

SWELL∙UP∙INSIDE

Alistair sighed and turned over on his side yet again. He could not get comfortable. There were too many things running through his mind, and they all made him anxious. Not to mention he was sharing a bed with Leliana.

He figured it’d be easier to sleep if he faced away from her, but it wasn’t working. He still _knew_ she was there. He could still feel her presence. He could still feel _her_.

She had gotten good and drunk during dinner. He didn’t know she could drink like that. He didn’t know what possessed her to drink like that. He had two drinks, just enough to relax. The ale tasted like slime and dregs but he was under the impression that ale wasn’t supposed to taste good. He’d never had a good cup of it in his lifetime. He probably never would.

Despite the wretched taste, Leliana drained three mugs of ale in five minutes. That’s when he decided he had to keep an eye on her.

Twenty minutes later he was carrying her to bed.

It all went downhill so fast. At first he thought she was a rather amusing drunk, but then she started asking horribly inappropriate questions about Elena and Zev.

“So how big is he?” she asked Elena as she leaned across the table.  

They were sharing a booth. Elena was sitting next to Zevran. The elf was leaned back casually, his legs crossed, with one arm hanging around Elena’s shoulders. He would occasionally look over at her and run a finger over her ear, down her face, or touch a strand of her hair. It wasn’t hard to see that he was starting to adore her. It’d be cute if it were anyone else.

Leliana was sitting next to Alistair on the opposite side of them. Sten was in a chair at the end of the table. He didn’t eat or drink, claiming the food was disgusting and everyone in the tavern was an idiot. He was right on both counts.

Elena’s only reaction to the redhead’s question was a quirked eyebrow. “What?”

“You know!” Leliana laughed. “Zev! How big is he?”

“Please don’t answer that,” Alistair begged.

“I’ve heard stories.” She stopped to take another gulp of ale. Most of the table was crowded with her mugs. Some of them were even stacked on top of each other. She’d had a _lot_ more to drink than Alistair realized.

“I’ve heard _stories_ ,” she said again. “About how big elves are. ‘N I want to know if it’s true. Is he like...like the size of a summer sausage? Or is he like...like a quill?”

“...What?” Elena said again.

Leliana just prattled on. “Or...maybe...maybe he’s like a horse! _Ooh_ . Horses are really, _really_ big. Sometimes I wonder how girl horses can take something like that. It’d be like...like...like _you_ doing it with _Sten_.”

Alistair saw Sten shake his head in disgust. That was his cue to leave.

“OK, time for bed,” the prince announced as he stood up. “Sten, I am very sorry. Zev, Elena, let’s never speak of this again.”

Zev’s free hand was nursing a drink. He seemed more interested in watching Leliana make a fool out of herself than finishing it off. Or maybe he just couldn’t stomach the taste of the swill. “I would have answered her question,” he assured him, an amused smirk painted across his exaggerated features.

Alistair refused to let his mind go in that direction. “I know.”

He pulled the bard out of the booth and picked her up. He didn’t even want to know if she could walk or not. She was done embarrassing both of them for the night.

She was heavier than she looked.

He paused to shift her weight so that he could carry her down the hall comfortably. She giggled and wrapped her arms around him. “Alistair!” she exclaimed happily, nuzzling his neck. “My knight in shining armor. You’re so cute. I really want to kiss you.”

He blushed despite himself. “Yes, well, thank you, but you’re not exactly in your right mind at the moment. So I’m going to have to pass.”

“A drunk woman is an honest one,” Zevran said to him. “I say give her what she wants. If she regrets it in the morning, it’s her own fault.”

He looked back at the elf to express his disgust. “You’re an awful person, you know that?”

“So I’ve heard,” he smirked.

“Oh I don’t know,” Leliana giggled. “He’s kind of cute. And he’s good for Elena. Maker knows she needed to have sex. She was the bitchiest person I’ve met in a long time.”

“... _What_ ?” Elena hissed. Her tone was bordering on _venomous_.

“Oh, my, look at the time,” Alistair announced suddenly. “We really should get you into bed Leliana, before you get yourself killed.”

“Oh, pffff,” she snorted drunkenly. “She’s...she’s fine now! Sometimes we just need to...to _purge_!” She cackled. “I just hope Zev’s big enough. I heard elves are like caterpillars down there. Tiny everywhere, even where it counts. Ha!”

Zevran shook his head. “You Fereldans say such horrible things about elves,” he lamented dramatically. “I believe I’m offended. Yes, you’ve wounded me. I shall never recover.”

“Bah!” she exclaimed, waving the elf off. “You’ll be fine. Just have Elena kiss it and make it all…”

Alistair walked off before they could hear her finish that horrible statement.

He got her back to their room without further incident. She didn’t even fight him when he put her in the bed. He helped her out of her shoes, and she helped herself out of her top. The flush on her face from drinking went past her neck. He tried so hard not to look down to see where it stopped. He succeeded.

“Alistair,” she moaned, flopping back against the pillows.

He sat on the edge of the bed to take off his own shoes, and _not_ think about her half-naked body lying on top of the covers. “What.”

“You’re going to sleep next to me, right?”

“Well, I kind of have to,” he confessed. “I don’t want to know what crawls around on the floor in this place.” One shoe off, one to go.

“Will you cuddle with me?”

He blushed again. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

She scoffed. “You are _so_ prude.”

“And you’re drunk.” He stood up and pulled the covers over her so that he wouldn’t be tempted to look, or even worse, _stare_. The night had been eventful enough. He was ready for it to end. “Now go to sleep.”

She didn’t say anything. He walked around the bed and settled in on the other side. After a few moments, he looked behind him to see how she was doing. She was passed out. Good. He could finally have a few moments of sanity.

Except his neck _tingled_ where she had nuzzled him. He reached up to touch the spot, and a shudder ran through him. He was trying not to imagine what it would have felt like to hold her while she was half dressed. She probably felt amazing. He’d bet on it.

He considered Leliana a good friend. She always enjoyed his stories, and she made him laugh just as much as he made her laugh. But when she started flirting with him, it always felt awkward. Not to mention that, despite how horrible Elena was to him, he was still struggling with an attraction to _her_ as well. Relegating her to his little sister didn’t help much. His body certainly wasn’t fooled by it.

But the bard had such a warm, practical personality. She laughed easily, and when she did, it sounded like silver bells. She always had a smile and story to tell. He could listen to her talk for hours. They were very good at talking, actually. And at fighting. He happened to think that they worked together just as well as Zevran and Elena did in battle. Not to mention she was good at hunting, cooking, mending, washing, spouting off interesting but useless facts...

Was there anything she wasn’t good at?

He bet she’d be good at kissing too.

He moaned in frustration and pulled a pillow over his head. Honestly, at any point, if either Leliana or Elena ever came into actual, unrestricted physical contact with him, he’d probably die.


	12. Just in time

 

“Why do you keep staring at that house?” 

Alistair turned and looked at Elena, his face permanently pink. He’d had a hell of a night and a hell of a morning. He wasn’t sure he’d ever recover. 

She seemed fine though. She probably forgot all of those horrible things Leliana said about her last night. It was for the best.

“No reason.” He tried to sound casual as he said it. 

Her gaze said she didn’t believe him. 

Fortunately it didn’t go any farther than that. Leliana interrupted what could have been with a groan that sounded like it came from a sick sow. “It’s too bright out here,” she said hoarsely. 

She leaned even more onto Alistair.  He had her arm wrapped around his shoulder for support, and was holding onto her wrist to keep her upright. The way she kept stumbling and dragging made him wonder if they’d ever get out of Denerim. 

“You really should have thought about that before you got drunk,” Elena replied coolly. She had no sympathy for her. None. 

“Not to worry,” Zevran assured the bard. “Your knight in shining armor will take good care of you.” 

Elena snickered. Alistair was just glad Leliana didn’t ask about the reference. 

Alistair told Elena that morning that Leliana had spent the better part of the morning throwing up. She just shook her head in disgust while Zevran laughed. He asked if they could wait until she felt better before they left but she said no. Leliana had to learn there were consequences to her actions or some such. He almost wanted to challenge her, but then he remembered that the Arl’s life was at stake. They couldn’t afford any delays.  

He felt bad for the bard but he knew that this was for the best. Even if they started out slowly because of her, at least they were starting out. 

“Let’s move,” Elena ordered. 

The others followed her towards the city gates. The prince took one last look at his sister’s house before he followed. He’d see her one day. He was sure of it. 

SWALLOWING∙ME

They were overburdened with equipment.

When Alistair said he’d buy supplies she didn’t think he’d buy  _ that many  _ supplies. It seemed like they had  _ months _ worth of supplies and armor. They couldn’t drag all of it around. It was only going to slow them down.

Alistair said they should stop by the fort.

She knew the suggestion originated from his worry for Leliana. The bard had been moving slow all day. She had graduated to standing on her own two feet and walking on her own, but she kept complaining about a headache. 

Elena almost said no, partially because  _ she _ pushed through the next day just fine after her first night with Zevran. It was hard as hell, but she made it. Leliana’s hangover couldn’t have been any worse than the combination of hours of exertion, nearly zero bodily fluids and getting maybe two hours of sleep total. They’d just have to either discard what they didn’t need, sell it off, or deal. 

But then they were attacked by darkspawn.

The horde took them all by surprise. The emissary nearly killed all of them with one spell. Only Wynne remained standing. She somehow revived the entire group without any harm coming to herself. Once they were back on their feet, they dispatched the creatures as quickly as possible. Then Zev and Elena picked the corpses clean of anything useful. 

And then Wynne fainted. 

It was a dead drop, like her life suddenly left her body. Elena stopped what she was doing immediately and ran over to her. There was fear in her eyes. She was sure she was dead. Sam’s mournful howl seemed to confirm it.

But then Wynne got back up.

It took some effort, but she was standing upright soon enough. She didn’t miss the look of worry in the girl’s normally hard brown eyes. 

“Are you alright, Wynne?” Alistair asked. For a moment he had forgotten his concern for Leliana, who was busy throwing up in some bushes. 

“I’m fine,” the mage assured him. “For a second there I thought it was all over.”

Elena didn’t like her tone. She sounded like she was hiding something. “What was all over?” she wanted to know. 

“Everything.”

That just confirmed her previous suspicions. “Wynne, what is wrong with you?” 

It wasn’t a gentle question. It was demanding, though it was sourced in genuine worry. She did not want the old mage to die. She didn’t want any of them to die.

Except Morrigan. She wouldn’t miss her. 

“I’ll explain when we make camp,” Wynne promised. “We must continue.”

She didn’t hesitate for a second. “We’re going to the fort,” she announced. Wynne needed rest. She would sleep in a real bed tonight.

They made it to the fort by nightfall. Elena had braced herself for the idea of having to clean up the mess they left during their first visit. She knew they’d have to deal with carcasses and all the filth and dust associated with abandoned facilities that hadn’t been used for years. What a surprise when the first thing that greeted her was a large bonfire. And Levi.

“My lady.” His grin made her blush. He was genuinely happy to see her. “I was hoping you’d come back,” he confessed. “You look well.”

“This place looks amazing,” Alistair breathed as he looked around. “Like a little town.”

“My family decided to move in,” he said proudly. “They helped me clean the place up. We’ll maintain it while you’re away Warden, if that’s quite alright with you.”

Alright? It was better than alright. The fort was like a castle, and Levi and his family were offering to be her servants. How in the world could she not be alright with that? 

She curbed her enthusiasm though, and simply nodded. “It’s fine,” she said, though it was much better than fine. It was a  _ relief _ . They had somewhere they could sleep if they ever wanted to use furniture instead of sleeping on the hard ground. And it was right near Denerim too. It was too perfect.

“Good. Will you be staying the night?” he asked. “We have plenty of space.”

“Yes.” Of  _ course _ they would stay. Forget the fact that having Wynne in a bed was the reason they came up here. It’d be crazy to turn down a chance to have some normality.

Well, normal for her anyway. 

Levi was happy with her response. “Wonderful! I’ll have my nephews get your rooms ready. Don’t worry about food or anything like that. Just rest and let us take care of everything.”

Oh, and they were going to be  _ waited _ on. This was a dream come true.

She was so wrapped up in her elation she almost forgot about Wynne. Fortunately Alistair said something.

“I hate to rush you Levi, but we’ve a couple of ladies who don’t feel well,” he said. “Is there any way you can…?”

“Ah, say no more,” he instructed the templar. “Come on.” He led Wynne, Leliana and Alistair towards a door directly behind him. Sam followed after them. 

“What do you think?” Zevran asked her, drawing her attention away from her departing companions. “Will our room be as luxurious as the one in the Pearl?”

She smirked. “Doubt it.” She  _ would _ miss that stone tub. If she ever regained her lands she’d have one installed in every bedroom in the castle. 

“Ah well,” he sighed, running a finger lightly down the side of her face. “I suppose we will have to make do then.”

She didn’t miss the fact that he said “our room.” Curious that he would assume that they were automatically bunking together. What if she wanted to be alone that night?

She had a feeling he’d find some way to sneak in and ravish her anyway. She didn’t mind the thought.

“You are a mischievous thing,” he purred in her ear. “Will you tell me what you’re planning? Or is it a surprise?”

“You two are disgusting,” Morrigan announced with no small amount of ire in her voice. “Twould be nice if you kept your little games confined to your tents or rooms, where we don’t have to witness them firsthand.”

Elena feigned innocence as she looked back at her. “What’s the matter Morrigan?” she asked. “Is Sten not satisfying you?”

Zevran laughed. 

Sten rolled his eyes. He couldn’t wait to find his opening so he could take over. He needed to put a stop to this madness.

FREEDOM∙CAN∙BE∙FRIGHTENING

Levi gave her the Warden Commander’s room. 

“You remind me of her,” he said as he went around, lighting the candles. 

There was nothing special about it. It was modestly furnished. But there was a sort of reverence about sleeping there, considering the visions she saw of Sophia. She was a great commander. She was honored that Levi thought she was worthy enough for comparison.

When he finished he picked up their packs. “I’m going to store these in the chest next to my shop,” he said. “I’ll come back with water for the tub. I’m sure you want a bath.” 

She wanted to kiss him.

She sat down on the bed, testing to see if it was sturdy. It was. There was plenty of room for Zevran too, if he decided to stay. He had taken a room elsewhere, so maybe he was just joking about sharing a room with her.

“Sounds like he admires you,” the elf noticed. He sat down on the floor in front of her and started taking off her boots. “What did you do for him? Aside from crossing his path.”

She told him the story of Sophia Dryden, and how she had spared Avernus, who was still holed up in the tower. As she recounted it, Levi came in multiple times to fill up her tub with water.

“Sounds like an adventure,” Zev said after she finished recounting the tale. 

“Her actions were damning,” she noted, “but she did what she thought was right. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same if I were in her shoes.”

“No one knows how they would react to a situation until they find themselves in it,” he agreed wisely. “Too many times we say we will do the right thing, but survival always blurs the line between right and wrong.”

“Too true,” Levi agreed as he emptied water into the tub. “Not that I meant to eavesdrop.” 

“It is quite alright,” Zevran said graciously. 

“That’s the last of it.” He sat the bucket down next to the tub. “There should be fresh linens in the wardrobe. If you need anything else, let me know. I should be up for a while yet.” 

They both thanked him before he left. 

Now they were alone.

She brought her legs up onto the bed, folding them in front of her, and peered down at the elf on the floor. He stared back at her, unflinching. She wished she could tell what he was thinking. He seemed adept at knowing exactly what she wanted when she wanted it, but she had yet to be able to read him half as well. Most of him was still very much a mystery to her. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

But she enjoyed his company. That’s all she would focus on right now.

“Tell me a story, Zevran,” she requested. 

“A story?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow. “What about?”

“About one of your adventures. You seem like you’ve had a lot of them.”

“Do I? You make me sound so old my dear. I feel I should be yelling at children to stay away from my property.”

That was another thing. “How old are you?” she wanted to know.

“Not  _ that _ old. But I suppose I can amuse you with a tale or two,” he agreed, artfully dodging the answer to her question. “Let’s see now...hmm. Ah, I know. I shall tell you about my first official assignment as a Crow.” 

And it involved sex. Of course it did. 

She grabbed a hold of her neck and winced when he told her how the girl died. She felt bad for her at first, but then he told her the girl was trying to sabotage him. She probably would have gotten away with it too - if she would have lived.

“I learned my lesson after that,” the elf finished. 

He was stretched out on his side now, still on the floor, still peering up at her. Elena was silent for a time, content to watch him. Staring at him put her in the mind of her elven servants. They had all had exaggerated features, now that she thought about it. No, not exaggerated.  _ Dramatic _ . That was the word she was looking for. Fine skin and bones, sharp ears, exotic looks. None of them had the blemishes and imperfections of humans. All of them were so... _ elegant _ , even when they were hard at work. 

Zevran was elegant too. She didn’t care for his looks at first, but that was because he had nearly killed her. She didn’t mind so much now. In fact, she found herself comparing him to the elves they had come across in their journey. Though they were few and far between - and certainly pleasant to look at - none of them were as attractive as he was.

That was probably because she’d slept with him. 

She stood up and began removing her armor. She was tired. She felt like she was always tired. The journey seemed endless, and nothing about herself was familiar anymore. She could feel Zevran’s eyes on her as she trudged over to the tub naked and submerged herself in the still-hot water. 

She threw her hair back as she came up for air, and ran her fingers through it. Sometimes she wished she could close her eyes and go back to her life before Arl Howe slaughtered her family. Right now, Sam would be right by the tub, enjoying her splashing him. Her mother would come in and scold her for something she did. Elena would blow her off or calm her down and talk her out of whatever horrible punishment or lecture she’d cooked up. Then her mother would tell her something she’d heard a million times, offer an anecdote of wisdom, sigh in resignation and leave. 

She never thought she’d miss being scolded.

She never thought she’d miss being called “pup.”

She reached for the soap and began scrubbing herself. She used to resent that pet name. “Pup.” As if she would never grow up. As if she would always be the baby, no matter how old she had gotten or how much she’d proved herself worthy. 

And then Father left her in charge. He trusted her. He knew she could run things while he was away. And he shooed Duncan away from her, saying that he would never give up his youngest to the Grey Wardens. 

In hindsight she realized he had called her pup because she was his treasure. He left her at home because he knew she was capable of taking charge and keeping order. He shooed Duncan away because he wanted her to live. And if she were a Grey Warden, he knew they would lose her. He didn’t want that. 

And in the end, both of her parents sacrificed themselves so that she could live.

They knew she could go on without them.  

That strength she had shown, that constant testing of her gilded cage, they had seen it. They were going to let her go, let her be free. If none of this had happened, if Arl Howe hadn’t have slaughtered them, she could have been someone important: a powerful noble. Not just in word or through blood, but through actions. She could have gone anywhere, done anything she liked. She would have been free.

But none of that was meant to be. She doubted her father and brother would have lived through a battle with the darkspawn. Still, she and her mother would still be alive, though they would still be mourning their loss right now. 

And she would be angry. She would want revenge. She would seek out the Grey Wardens and join them, just so she could look the archdemon in the face before she drove her sword through its skull.

And all of this would have happened anyway.

Funny how life worked out sometimes.

She looked down at her hands, empty of soap, and wondered why she was so sore. Her answer was simple: she was covered in welts. She had scrubbed too hard, and now she had nail marks and scratches all over her skin. 

She examined herself carefully, running her fingers up and down her damaged skin. Zevran was right. She  _ had _ changed. Her body was  _ much _ more finely sculpted than it was before. She had muscles everywhere now, even in her stomach. Strange, that she hadn’t recognized the changes. She thought the elf was just needlessly flattering her as part of his pillow talk, but he was right. She  _ was _ different.

“Are you ready to get out?” he asked from behind her. “If you stay in here too long you’ll prune.”

She glanced back at him. When had he climbed into the tub with her? And how long had he been here?

It didn’t matter. He was there now. 

She got out of the tub, dried off and went straight to bed. Zevran joined her after he had started a fire in the fireplace. The crackling of the flames and the smell of burning wood was lulling.

He settled down next to her. Soon she felt his fingers walking lightly up and down her side. She knew what was on his mind, but she didn’t feel like it tonight. Maybe tonight they could just rest. Maybe tonight she could just enjoy her freedom.

“What are you thinking about, my dear mistress?” he asked quietly.

“Freedom,” she said, her voice just as quiet. 

“Oh?” He dropped a tender kiss on her shoulder. “What about it?”

“I just...want to enjoy it.”

“Tell me what it feels like,” he prodded, moving closer to her. 

“It’s...a little weighty,” she admitted, much to her own surprise. “But I still feel relieved. I know I was meant to be here. I would have wound up here no matter what.”

“You sound so sure.” 

“I am sure. Even if Arl Howe hadn’t have betrayed my family, my father and brother would have still died in a battle with the darkspawn. And I still would have become a Grey Warden.”

“Then how are you free?”

“Because now I know there was nothing I could have done to stop this from happening,” she explained. “I was  _ meant _ to be a Warden. It has nothing to do with destiny or the Maker or anything so frivolous as that. All of my choices, all the roads I could have traveled, they all end here. It’s what I’ve always wanted. It’s freeing to know that.”

He didn’t even attempt to hide his admiration. “You are a remarkable woman, Elena,” he said, drawing her closer to him. He allowed her room to turn over and face him before he wrapped his arms around her. “I cannot help but think if I had known you earlier, I would know freedom too.”

“You’re free now,” she said softly.

He blinked. “Am I? I seem to recall swearing a blood oath to you in exchange for sparing my life. Then you made me your footstool.”

She chuckled. “I thought you enjoyed being my footstool.”

“It is not so bad,” he admitted, lacing his fingers with hers. “But I would rather serve you in other ways.”

“Well,” she began thoughtfully, “I am in need of a pack mule…”

“Oh, you wound me,” he pouted. “And here I was thinking I was too pretty to be a creature of burden.”

“Being pretty doesn’t spare you from fulfilling your oath,” she chided lightly.

“It doesn’t? Then I shall have to find some other way to get out of this contract. I do not like what it’s doing to my sense of self. I think I am actually developing a sense of right and wrong. ...Or perhaps that is gas from dinner.” 

She laughed despite herself. “You’re disgusting.”

He smiled. “You enjoy it. Seriously though, when this is over, what do you intend to do with me?”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Before or after I ravish you in celebration?”

He grinned. “After, of course."

“I’ll not hold you to any oath Zevran,” she said honestly. “You can go wherever you like, do whatever you like.”

“Then I will be free.” He liked the sound of that.

She shook her head. “You’re free now,” she said again. “You must realize that no matter what path you chose, no matter what choices you could have made, they all lead here.”

“To you?” he guessed.

“I actually meant away from the Crows, but you seem to be intent on sweet talking me, so we’ll go with that.”

He sighed heavily. “It hurts me to know that nothing I do tonight is going to get you to sleep with me. And here I was thinking I could coax you into it by being deep and revealing my true self.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “You are so full of shit!” she exclaimed. 

He grinned. He liked when she laughed. Her face lit up splendidly. “It’s part of my charm.” 

In all honesty though, her words  _ did _ something to him. To admit that he wanted freedom from the Crows was an understatement. He was actually ready to kill himself to get away from them. 

But she was right. No matter what happened, being with them was not for him. He would have tried to break free eventually. Perhaps it would have been the result of boredom or something he simply did on a whim, but at some point he would be on the run from them. Life was not exciting inside of a cage, no matter how pretty it was. 

They had that in common.

He leaned in to kiss her. Every day he peeled back a layer and saw another side of her. Every day he saw more and more of himself in her. It was both puzzling and fascinating. 

Not to mention dangerous. 

She threw her arms around his neck and brought him closer, never breaking stride. He moaned when he felt his body respond to her sliding against him in an effort to get as close to him as possible. They would have sex eventually, but for now, he just enjoyed kissing her. 


	13. Thank anybody

 

Haven was eerily quiet.

It looked like a ghost town. There were houses, but no people. There was no market, children playing or soldiers. There were only structures, small gardens, crates and barrels.

There weren’t even any animals.

There were no birds singing, no squirrels skittering across the worn pathways, no rabbits nibbling at the vegetation. In fact there weren’t any pathways. There was barely any grass. Most of the ground was just bare dirt.

They all decided to enter the town together. Normally only four of them would go in, but they all agreed that locating Genitivi was urgent. The plan was to spread out and look for him, maybe check the tavern and ask the townspeople about him. Clearly that wasn’t about to happen. 

“I feel extremely uneasy about this place,” Alistair said quietly. 

“I know,” Leliana agreed, her voice tense. “It’s like a graveyard. I half expect to find either darkspawn or bodies.”

The prince grimaced. “Maybe both.”

“How do you half expect something?” Zevran wanted to know.

Alistair rolled his eyes. “And Elena accused  _ me _ of never taking anything seriously.”

“You don’t,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“Well neither does he!” he accused, pointing to the elf.

“Yes, but when he does it, it’s cute.”

Zevran couldn’t hold back his grin. Alistair couldn’t hold back his disgust.

“Don’t be upset my handsome friend,” Zevran chided lightly. “Maybe if you slept with her, she’d treat you better.”

Alistair wanted to die. “What??” he exclaimed, a little louder than he should have. “No. No.  _ No _ .”

“Are you sure? I’m not a jealous lover,” he assured the templar. “I’m willing to share.”

“She’s...no! She’s like my sister! That’s just...wrong!” Still, even after all that protesting, he couldn’t stop himself from turning red.

“You know, in Antiva…” Zevran started, but Alistair cut him off.

“Please. Do not. Finish. That story. I’m just going to say no and we are going to talk about something else.  _ Anything _ else.”

Leliana tried to keep her laughter quiet. It seemed inappropriate given that there was no one about. People may have died here recently, and they were needling Alistair about his insecurities.

Except Elena wasn’t content to let it go.

“You are rather sexy Alistair,” the Warden admitted casually, as if she were commenting on the weather. “You remind me of Cailan. Except your eyes are much more...dramatic.”

Leliana couldn’t help herself. “He does have beautiful eyes,” she agreed, smiling at him. “Such long eyelashes too. Were Cailan’s eyes like that?”

“Smoldering?” Elena shook her head. “No. Cailan was more...statuesque. His features were a bit chiseled. Even when he looked unkempt he still had the presence of a god. When I first met him, he hadn’t shaved in a few days. He looked a little rough. But I still wanted to pounce on him.”

“Cailan was handsome,” Wynne agreed. “I never wanted to pounce on him, but he was quite charming. Such a gentleman.”

“You do realize I am absolutely horrified by this conversation,” Alistair interjected. 

Leliana looked over at him and blinked. “Why?”

“Because Cailin’s dead,” he responded defensively. “I know he was my half brother but it’s just rude to talk about him like a slab of meat, and then compare me to said slab of meat.”

Leliana stopped walking. “We’re not talking about you like a slab of meat Alistair.”

Alistair stopped too. “Well I feel like one. Honestly, how would you like it if your sister died and then Zev and I just went on and on about how beautiful she was and all the seedy things we wanted to do to her, and then compared her to you?” There was such uncharacteristic ire in his voice. He was genuinely upset by their conversation.

By now the entire group had stopped to watch events unfold. Drama was a given with seven strangers on a quest to save the world, but they usually saw the aftermath of it. To have it unfold right in front of them was a rare treat.

“You have a sister?” Zevran said to Leliana.

“That is not the point I’m trying to make,” Alistair bit out. Suddenly he sighed in defeat and threw his hands in the air. “You know what? Just forget it.”

“We’re not going to just forget it,” Leliana insisted. “Why does it bother you so? Elena was just saying you were both handsome, but in different ways.”

“I said sexy,” the Warden corrected nonchalantly. “And maybe you wouldn’t be so upset if you just accepted your birthright and had a nice romp in the sack. It doesn’t even have to be in that order.”

Alistair glared at her. “And maybe you wouldn’t be such a  _ bitch _ if you just accepted the fact that your family is dead, and you can’t bring them back.” 

Leliana’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. She couldn’t believe he’d said something so horrible. “Alistair!”

“Don’t “ _ Alistair _ ” me!” he snapped, startling the bard even more. “She tromps around like she owns the place and we’re all just little toys she can play with to make herself feel better. She’s using every last one of us to make up for what she lost. We’re just stand-ins. Wynne’s her mother, Morrigan’s the bratty sibling, Sten’s the militia and the rest of us are just her servants. Isn’t that right,  _ teryn _ Elena?”

“Alistair stop it!” Leliana hissed at him. 

“Shut. Up,” he ordered, then continued tearing into Elena. “I’ve got news for you: we’re not puppets. You can’t pull our damn strings and make us do what you want for your own amusement. That’s not how the real world works. I wish someone would knock you off that damn high horse you’re on, just so  _ you _ can know what it feels like to be at someone’s mercy for a change.” 

“ _ Pashaara _ ,” Sten announced, pulling out his sword. “I’m taking over.”

Elena, who had been weathering Alistair’s speech quite stoically, looked at Sten with a barely quirked eyebrow. “Are you really, now?”

They could hear her sanity  _ fraying _ in her words. 

She turned and looked up at him expectantly. “And tell me Sten, what exactly makes you think you’re qualified to lead?”

“We are supposed to be going after the archdemon,” the qunari replied irritably. “Instead you have spent your time dragging us further and further away from our goal. Tell me, do you plan to go so far north it eventually becomes south?”

Her smirk said she was amused, but her eyes were steel. “You have to admit, it’d never see it coming.”

He shook his head. “You are just a child,” he said impatiently. “You cannot lead. You cannot fight. You are not a warrior. You are not qualified. Step aside.”

Elena calmly pulled out her weapons. “You want to take over, Sten? You’ve got a snowball’s chance, but you’re welcome to try.” 

He charged at her. 

IF∙YOU’VE∙NEVER∙FELT∙IT

In Morrigan’s opinion, Elena was the one who stood about a snowball’s chance.

The qunari was easily five times her side. His armor made sure he was well protected. His sword looked like it was nearly as big as her. There was no way she wasn’t going to win against him. She didn’t have enough fighting experience to take him down.

She hoped Sten won. She’d happily submit to his leadership. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with Elena’s ego. It would be muted - provided she lived through this.

She hoped she didn’t.

But just in case, she was planning all of the horrible things she’d say to her. It wasn’t enough for her to be humbled by the qunari. She wanted her to  _ really _ feel the loss.

Compassion was for cowards.

ONCE∙YOU’VE∙BEEN∙DEALT∙WITH

She should have seen this coming. 

She effortlessly dodged his first attack, dancing out of the way as if she were switching partners. This is why he hadn’t been talking lately. He wasn’t just the strong, silent type. He had been planning this, probably for weeks. 

He really did believe she wasn’t qualified to lead them. 

He came at her again, swinging his sword in an arc that would have cleaved her in two, had she not blocked it. He was going for blood. 

He was going to get it. 

She sidestepped another attack and banged the hilt of her sword on his armor as he passed by her. She needed to see how thick it was. It was massive, making him look like a moving weapon, and protecting him from most of her blows. So she had to find weak spots.

She ducked under a potentially devastating swing of his sword. He pressed his boot to her backside and pushed her over onto her hands and knees. His shadow gave away his next move. She rolled to the left just as he pushed his blade into the ground right where her head used to be. 

She got to her feet and gripped her weapons defensively. He was on the offensive, raining down blow after blow on her. She couldn’t defend against all of them. He was much stronger than her. She kept trying to brace against them, but the constant force of his attacks was too much. She had to figure out a way to get him off of her, or she was going to die.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he put all of his force into one swing. She tried her best to shore up against him by crossing her weapons and pushing back, but she couldn’t handle his brute strength. She may have gained a bit of muscle, but she was still a human. She was still a woman. She was still  _ weak _ .  

He heard the metal of her knife snap. The pressure of him bearing down on her broke it. It threw her off balance completely. He knocked the remains of it out of her hand.

Panic took over.

Sten smirked, watching her attempt to push him back with her sword. She pressed her hand against the bottom of her blade for balance, holding it level like a bar, and began pushing back against him as hard as she could. He smelled the blood before he even saw it spill from her flesh. Her sword was digging into her hand, but she was still holding the weapon level against him. She was braver than he thought. The pain, though, was nearly unbearable. He saw it in her eyes. That was her weakness.

He shifted his sword so that he could put pressure directly on the part that was against her hand. She cried out and let go, allowing his sword to cut into the chest of her armor. She stumbled back, dropped to one knee and grabbed the wounded area. He saw red leaking through her fingers. She could only take two or three more of those. That should be easy.

He reaffirmed his grip on his sword before charging at her again. She glared up at him, something savage in her eyes. He didn’t have time to register his mistake. She threw a poison bomb at him, hitting him right in the face.

As he coughed and cursed in his native tongue, she stood up and took a breath. That poison was weak. He would recover shortly. But it bought her just enough time to pull out another weapon. 

Another sword.

Zevran had been showing her how to wield two swords for a while, but she preferred a knife and a sword. A knife was quicker. She could block with the sword and stab with the knife. It was also easier to get to the weak points with the knife than with the sword.

But she couldn’t face Sten with that weapon combination.

He was physically stronger than her. He had excellent military training. She’d seen him fight. She needed two swords if she were going to beat him. It’d help her defensively and offensively. It would level the playing field.

But she wasn’t looking for a fair fight.

The poison cloud was clearing around him, but he was still disoriented. He heard a wolf’s howl. It was near at first, but then another one sounded off in the distance. He wiped his eyes. His vision was still blurred, but he could see enough to see something coming towards him. It was about time she took advantage of him in his weakened state. She had no clue how to fight. She could use all the dirty tricks she wanted, but she wouldn’t beat him.

She lunged at him. 

He was thrown back with unnatural force. He hit the ground hard, and instinctively reached up to cover his face with his arm. He was rewarded with razor sharp teeth biting through his armor and into his flesh. Sam. 

He threw his arm out, tossing the canine off of him. He stood up and took a deep breath, picking his sword up off the ground. His arm  _ throbbed _ . He felt the damaged metal cutting into it. He didn’t know mabari teeth could cut through metal like that. This was a bad time to find out.

And a bad time to be thrown back to the ground.

Elena swung both of her weapons at him with all the strength she could muster, knocking him over. He rolled out of the way of her next strike and got up, shaking the deliriousness away. She swung again, knowing he would block it. When he did she pushed him back with her foot, separated her weapons, and started attacking again. 

Now he had to block two separate attacks instead of one. Off to the side, he could hear the mabari growling, waiting for an opening. He was upset that he hadn’t taken her dog into account, but he had faced worse odds.  He was a soldier of the Beresaad. He wouldn’t let this  _ child _ beat him.

He lashed out at her with renewed strength, catching her off guard, then went back on the offensive. The hound’s barking would have been a distraction to anyone else, but he was focused. He would cut her down. He would prove she wasn’t fit to lead.

He sliced her across the stomach, earning a pained grunt from her. More blood spilled from her. He could hear her fear and weakness in her pained gasp. Just two more and he’d have her. 

She bared her teeth, snarled and  _ howled _ .

That howl he heard earlier was no canine. It was  _ her. _ And the hound that attacked him before wasn’t a mabari. It was a damn  _ wolf _ .

_ She had a wolf _ .

_ Vasheden. _

He raised up his sword defensively, just in time to block its teeth. It bit into the blade instead. It left  _ teeth marks _ . What exactly was he dealing with?? 

Sten  _ hated _ being caught by surprise. He threw the wolf off of him with the same ease he had done before, growling with annoyance. He had never seen her summon a wolf before. He’d never seen any indication of a wolf around the camp. They had killed plenty of them and taken their pelts, but he had never, ever made a connection between them and her. She left no clues. She behaved like a spoilt noble, not like someone who could speak to and command wild beasts. 

He underestimated her, and he would pay for it.

As soon as he threw the wolf off of him she launched herself at him, renewing her attack. Each blow was calculated, confident, the exact opposite of her ineptitude at the beginning of the fight. She was in her element now. He didn’t know how things shifted so quickly, but he was losing. Whenever he got the upper hand she called in the wolf, who never attacked in the same way twice. The animal was an unpredictable element, and he couldn’t attack it without leaving himself open to attack from her. 

His only chance was to just overwhelm her with sheer strength. 

He was bigger than her. He used that to his advantage and began putting everything he had into each move. He would treat her as he treated an enemy. He would make sure she knew that she was not a warrior, no matter how close she came to beating him.

Soon he had her in the same situation as earlier, bearing down on her while she struggled to keep him at bay with her swords. As he pressed his weight into his blade, he heard a bone in her wrist snap. She screamed, and he smirked. This was it. One more injury and she was finished.

She glared up at him. He could feel the determination in her gaze, but it was too late. With a broken wrist she couldn’t maintain her defense. She was giving out. He had her.

He was so close to her he could see her sweat. He could smell her blood. But he couldn’t smell her fear. How was it that she was not afraid of defeat? Had she accepted the inevitable outcome? 

Her facial expression suddenly shifted from determination and grit to an amused smirk. 

Alarms went off in his head, but he was too slow to react. Before he could push his full weight into her and crush her under him, she made her move.

She  _ kissed _ him.

He grunted, genuinely surprised by the gesture. What the  _ hell _ was this?  _ Vasheden _ .

Like everything else about her, her lips were small. Small, but for some reason, not unpleasant. They were  _ soft. _ If he had eyebrows they would have knit together in concern and confusion. Without them it just looked like he was scowling.

Her tongue forced its way into his mouth. It was methodical and curious in its exploration, brushing and pushing up against his teeth and tongue. When it slid across the roof of his mouth it sent a shot of pure pleasure through his nerves. He growled. This wasn’t warfare. This was something else entirely. This was...he couldn’t think. What was she  _ doing _ to him? 

She pulled away from him all too soon. For some reason they were both out of breath, even more so than they had been while they were fighting.

...The fight.

She grinned up at him with a spark of  _ something _ in her eyes and smashed the hilt of her sword into his nose. It knocked his head back with more force than he thought she could ever muster. She swept her leg under him, tripping him, knocking him back onto the ground. He hit his head  _ hard _ . He swore he felt his brain literally bounce off the sides of his skull.

He felt her kick his sword out of his hand. When he opened his eyes, he saw her leaned over him. Her swords were crossed over his throat like a pair of sheers. He could feel them nicking his skin on both sides of his throat. He could feel his blood trickling to the ground. If she pushed them together, she’d decapitate him.

She placed her foot firmly on his chest. “ _ I. Am. The alpha _ ,” she growled at him. “This is  _ my _ pack. You got that Sten?”

“...Yes.”

" _ Submit _ qunari!" she commanded authoritatively.

He had no choice. "Yes Warden."

She seemed pleased by his decision. “Good. Try this again and I  _ will _ kill you. Now get back in line you damn hornless mountain goat.” 

She removed her swords and put them away. Even though he had broken her wrist, she still handled herself with grace. No wincing. No grunts of pain. It was like the injury didn’t even exist, even though he saw the bones practically jutting out of her skin.

Sten picked himself and his weapon up. He had underestimated her tremendously. He was wrong. She was strong enough to lead. 

She howled loudly in triumph. Her wolf howled with her. 


	14. Take your knocks

 

Once again, Morrigan looked put out.

Alistair only barely noticed. He was too busy watching Wynne and Zev use an injury kit and magic to set Elena’s broken wrist. “I’m fine,” she kept saying, but she wasn’t. She was still bleeding from where Sten had landed his blows. A health poultice wasn’t going to fix those wounds. And her armor was ruined.

The atmosphere was tense. She had won her fight against Sten using her wit, skills and savagery. She had pulled out so many surprising skills he’d never seen her use before. He doubted anyone had. She was a ranger, yet he had never seen her summon an animal to come to her aid once. She had been hiding it all along, waiting for just the right moment to pull it out.

That had been the perfect moment.

But that wasn’t what made everyone tense. It wasn’t her howling, or the wolf that was sitting next to Sam, waiting to be dismissed. It was the fact that Alastair had said he wished someone would knock her off her high horse so she could feel what it was like to be trampled on.

Everyone was just waiting for her to address it.

She had already put Sten back in line. She may as well straighten him out too.

“You’re a ranger?” Leliana asked as she approached Elena. She seemed hesitant, as if the girl would turn on her at any moment. Elena nodded.

“I’ve never seen a ranger summon like that before,” the bard admitted, relaxing a little. “I thought they used some form of magic. But you...you actually speak to the wolf in its own language. How did you do that?” 

“I learned,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Can you teach me?” she asked hopefully.

Elena shook her head, grunting when she felt Zevran press his hand against one of her injuries. She was in a _lot_ of pain, but she was taking it like a champion.

“You don’t have the mindset,” she breathed. Wynne and Zev were carefully unfastening her armor, preparing to get it off of her. Once she was free of it Wynne could apply her healing magic directly to the wounds and help them heal. They were trying to be delicate, but every move made her wince and grunt in pain.

“It requires getting in touch with your animal side,” she continued after she took a few deep breaths. “Ask Morrigan.”

“I do not have an animal side,” Morrigan hissed, glaring at Elena. “I am a shapeshifter.”

“And that requires turning into animals,” Elena reminded her. “Which means you do have an animal side. You are just upset because Sten didn’t win. Looking to overthrow me, are you? Hate to disappoint you, but if mine is bigger than Sten’s it’s also bigger than yours.”

Zevran couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

That was it. The witch had had enough.

“I’m leaving,” she announced. “I hope the archdemon tears your heart out and swallows it.”

Elena shrugged casually. “Guess I’ll burn Flemeth’s Grimoire then.”

Morrigan really had been about to leave. She was halfway to the entrance of the town. But the mention of the grimoire made her stop in her tracks. “You’re lying,” she accused, refusing to turn and face her. “You don’t have it.”

Elena braced herself as the mage and elf removed her armor. Underneath the wreckage she was red, black and blue. The qunari had really done a number on her. The fresh air hitting her wounds made her hiss.

“I found it in the Tower,” she panted, reaching for her lover. Zevran wrapped her arm around his shoulders at her silent request, so that he could support her. Wynne kneeled down on the ground so that she could be closer to the wounds. She started working her magic.

Morrigan knew she was telling the truth. She knew that was where the grimoire had been, but she had never told her or anyone else about it.

“If you’ve had it all this time, why wait until now to give it to me?” the witch questioned. “Or were you ever going to give it to me at all?”

Elena winced. Feeling her skin knit itself back together was painful, even if it was magical. “I was trying to wait for the right moment to give it to you,” she confessed. “Every time I wanted to you said something evil that made me want to punch you in the face. And that,” she paused to gasp as a particularly difficult spot finally closed up, “is because you don’t like me. I’m fine with that. But if you go back to Flemeth, you’re going to die.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Rubbish.”

Elena responded by throwing the book at her feet. “Read it,” she ordered. “See for yourself. If you decide you still want to go back to her after that, then nobody here is going to stop you. I promise.”

Morrigan bent over to pick the book up off the ground. She knew it was hers the instant she lifted it. She never thought she’d get her hands on it. And she had the person she hated most to thank for it.

“...I will study it,” she promised. “But if you’re lying expect me to be gone by the time you come back to camp.”

Zevran watched the witch leave the town. She would probably stay with Bodahn and Sandal for a while. They were camped just outside of Haven’s entrance.

He turned to Elena, a curious look in his eyes. He had no doubt she was telling the truth about the book. She had no reason to lie. But, “As many times as you said you wanted her dead, I never thought you’d go out of your way to save her life.”

“What did you teach me?” she replied, resting her forehead on his. “When opportunity knocks…?”

He smiled. “Let it in and make love to it.”

Wynne finished her healing shortly. She stood up and double checked the Warden, just to make sure she didn’t miss anything. “You’ll be sore,” she informed her, “but you’ll be fine.”

She nodded her appreciation. “Thank you Wynne. You’re a lifesaver.”

The mage chuckled. “I suppose this time I am.”

Sten was the one who handed her a tunic this time. She was standing there nearly naked. That wasn’t appropriate, no matter what the circumstances were.

“Is this yours?” she asked as she took it from him.

He ignored her question. The answer should have been obvious. “Just put it on,” he ordered. “At least until we see if we can find you some more armor.”

She slipped it over her head. It fell to her feet. She couldn’t help but laugh, even though it hurt to strain her chest and abdomen in such a way.

“That is the ugliest dress I’ve ever seen,” Zevran admitted. “I prefer you naked.”

“I can’t walk through a town naked, Zevran,” she laughed.

His grin was salacious. “I disagree. I think we’ll have far better results with that approach.”

“Enough,” she chuckled. “We need to be serious.”

“I _was_ being serious!” he insisted.

“Hush, you,” she cooed, tugging playfully on one of his ears. “We need to search this place for signs of Genitivi and see if we can find me some new armor. I ought to make you pay for it Sten.”

“If that is your wish,” the qunari replied. He wasn’t about to argue with her. At least not about that.

There were eight of them (she was counting Sam and the wolf), so she suggested they pair off. Wynne volunteered to go with Alistair. Zevran said he wanted to go with Sten. Elena knew it was only because he wanted to tease him endlessly about losing to her.

“Don’t kill my elf, Sten,” she warned.

“I will not,” he promised, “but I still may injure him if he decides to pester me.” That was the best she was going to get out of him.

“Leliana, you’re with me. Sam, you and the wolf keep an eye on Wynne. But do it discreetly. I need you to stay hidden in case something goes wrong. There’s something off about this place.”

ONCE∙YOU’VE∙BEEN∙DEALT∙WITH

There was a lone soldier standing watch not far from where they were.

Elena walked up to him, trying her best not to limp. Her body was in _a lot_ of pain. One thing she learned about magic is it wasn’t a cure all for anything. It may have healed her but her body still ached and throbbed. Maybe Sten had done more damage to her than she realized.

Leliana addressed the soldier politely. “Excuse me,” she started, but he cut her off.

“What do you want stranger?” he asked defensively.

“My friend here is hurt,” she went on in the same tone. “She was badly wounded in a fight. Her armor is in shreds. We just need somewhere to get some poultices and new armor.”

The Warden glanced over at the bard. This wasn’t part of the plan, but she’d go along with it. She held her side (she was doing that anyway) and winced when the soldier looked at her.

“...Is she bleeding?” he asked skeptically.

Leliana seemed as surprised as Elena was. “What? Oh my goodness, she is! Wynne, quick, give me an injury kit!”

She didn’t even feel the blood, but she knew they weren’t lying. She pulled her hand away from her side and stared at the red substance covering her hand. There was _so much_ of it. But why couldn’t she _feel_ it?

Come to think of it, she couldn’t feel her legs either. Odd.

She looked at the bard. “Li…”

She fainted dead away.

The soldier frowned. He hadn’t seen anyone crumple that fast in a while. He probably shouldn’t have, but he would allow them into town.

“You can get supplies and armor at the tavern,” he said, his tone neutral. “Get what you need and leave. We don’t like strangers here.”

YOU∙FEEL∙LIKE∙YOU’VE∙BEEN

The shopkeeper was just standing around, minding his own business, when suddenly six strangers burst into the door.

Panic set in. He started to raise the alarm but then he saw them drop something on the ground in front of his chest. It looked like a body. Why would they be bringing a body into his shop?

Maybe they were looking for a place to hide. Or maybe the villagers had attacked them and they were trying to save their friend’s life.

Yes, that was probably it.

He slowly began reaching for his knife. He could probably take out the big one before the others noticed. That would give the villagers an easier time dealing with the other ones. There was an old woman, a younger one, a young knight and an elf. They shouldn’t have trouble dispatching any of them.

He started inching towards them.

“Wynne I thought your magic worked!” the knight exclaimed. He sounded scared. His friend was probably dying.

“Oh, _now_ you’re worried about her?!” the young redheaded woman snarled, glaring up at him. “I seem to recall you wishing her harm barely a few minutes ago!”

“I didn’t want her to _die_!”

“No, you just wanted someone to knock her off her high horse,” she replied bitterly. “Well congratulations Alistair. You got your wish. I hope you’re happy.”

“Why would I be happy??”

“Shut up!” the elf snapped at him. “We need to stop the bleeding _now_. Wynne, what do you need?”

There was a gap between the protective circle they had formed around their friend. Peering into it allowed the shopkeeper to see what was going on. There was a woman laying on the floor bleeding profusely. Her head was in the young woman’s lap. The older woman was carefully applying pressure to the wound. Her robes were covered in blood. Ruined. The young man, Alistair, looked fretful. The big one just stood over her and kept silent.

“I have to reach in here,” the old woman said.

“Reach in there?” Alistair repeated. His voice was almost shrill. “Why?? What’s _wrong_ with her?!”

“I think Sten may have hit something vital,” Wynne said. She rolled up her sleeves, spreading the blood up the arm of her robes. Carefully, very carefully, she used one hand to reach inside of the wound.

“Hurry Wynne,” the young woman urged.

They were so focused on their dying friend they didn’t even see him come up behind the big one. The shopkeeper knew this was the  perfect time to strike.

He raised his knife.

It was the last thing he ever did.

Sten was no fool. He knew the shopkeeper would try to kill them. Two things tipped him off: the smell of death in the shop, and the lack of concern the shopkeeper had. He didn’t offer any type of aid whatsoever. Creeping up behind him didn’t help his case.

Sten simply turned around and snapped his neck like a twig.

Fool.

“Did you just kill the shopkeeper?!” Alistair exclaimed.

“He was trying to kill me,” Sten replied coolly.

“Do you think you could stop trying to kill people for five seconds?” the prince requested with a glare. “We’re already dealing with one of your messes.We don’t need another one.”

Fucking _idiot._

Sten growled and snatched Alistair away from the group. He ignored his protests and threats, dragging him into the back room of the store. There, on the floor, was the body of a Redcliffe knight.

“There,” Sten announced, tossing Alistair towards the body. “That’s why I killed the shopkeeper. I smelled that body as soon as we walked in the door.”

Alistair stepped around the bloodied corpse. “You...smelled it?” he repeated skeptically.

“My senses are much better than yours.”

The prince rolled his eyes. “Of course they are. But this knight confirms that someone else came here looking for Genitivi too. Elena was right to be suspicious about this place.”

“She’s awake!” Leliana exclaimed from the main room.

Alistair ran back into the main room without hesitating. Sten paused to see if there was something on the body that could give them more clues as to what happened here. Finding nothing, he rejoined his companions.

They were all fussing over the Warden at once. He understood their happiness. It would be a shame for her to die after she bested him in battle. Although if she did, he’d have no problem taking over. But for a warrior to die of a neglected wound after beating an opponent -- that was shameful.

“What happened?” she asked while Zevran helped her stand up.

“My magic was only topical; I didn’t know your wounds went this deep,” Wynne explained. “And I’m afraid I neglected this spot entirely. I only saw two wounds. This one was very fine, like a razor. My guess is it got some residual healing from being in the vicinity of the other wounds, but it wasn’t enough to close it completely.” She shook her head. “My oversight almost killed you. I’m sorry Elena.”

She blinked owlishly at her. “You just saved my life,” she pointed out. “It wasn’t you that almost killed me. It was Sten. Now his tunic is ruined, that guy is dead and I still have no armor.”

Leliana’s eyes widened when she noticed the shopkeeper’s body on the floor. “When did that happen??”

“Sten killed him a few minutes ago,” Alistair explained. “He tried to stab him in the back. There’s something else. There’s a dead Redcliffe guard in the next room. He’s been there for a while.”

“Not to sound crass,” Elena started slowly, “but is his armor any good?”

Sten hid his smirk like a pro. Qunari didn’t waste resources, so to him, the question was appropriate. But humans were always touchy about their dead. They worshipped them. He would never understand that. With Alistair behaving like a bleeding woman with his rapid mood swings and shrill shrieks, and Wynne feeling guilty that her mistake could have nearly killed their leader, he decided not to speak. He was sure they all blamed him for her condition just as much as they blamed Alistair. It was best to stay quiet.

“You’re not wearing armor that a dead man has been laying in for days,” Alistair said. “I’ll just go back to Bodahn and buy some.”

“Or we can raid the store,” Zevran offered. “It’s not like there’s anyone around to stop us.”

“True,” Alistair agreed. “I’ll see what’s about.” He went to check behind the counter.

“I’ll see what’s locked,” Leliana volunteered. She went into the room with the dead body.

“I’ll see about Sten,” Wynne said. Sten almost protested, but the look on the healer’s face told him not to argue. She dragged him over to an unoccupied corner and began checking him for injuries.

That’s when he remembered his nose was still broken and he had a pretty bad headache.

The mage’s touch was soft and delicate. She shifted the injured appendage ever so slightly. Pain shot through his face. He grunted, but it was barely audible. He’d had worse injuries.

“What did you think to accomplish by challenging Elena like that?” she asked as she applied healing magic to his nose.

“It does not matter,” he replied. “She won.”

“So you acknowledge she isn’t a child.”

“She is stronger than I thought,” he admitted. “I do not understand why she hid it.”

“Perhaps she wasn’t hiding it,” Wynne offered wisely. “Perhaps she simply didn’t want to use it. Perhaps you brought it out of her by forcing her hand.”

“Perhaps.” He looked over at her. The entire time she had been fooling them all.

TOUCHED∙BY∙SOMETHING

Leliana was glad rotting corpses didn’t really get to her anymore.

She sighed, closing the door of the wardrobe she was in. She found some injury kits, health poultices, soap, towels, bandages and clothing. They could use all of it, especially since they kept having fights and ruining clothes for some reason.

She shook her head. Why couldn’t they all just get along?

“What did you find?”

Alistair’s voice startled her. She nearly dropped what she was carrying. She tried to recover before she spoke.

“Don’t pretend like nothing happened.” She sounded angrier than she thought she would. She turned around to head back into the other room. She didn’t want to be alone with him. She couldn’t even _look_ at him.

“I’m not trying to,” he insisted, but she knew better.

“You can’t make it right Alistair,” she informed him. “You can’t apologize. Don’t even try.”

She made her way back into the other room. She heard him say something but she didn’t care. He _hurt_ her. It wasn’t even about what he said to Elena or what happened with Sten. He told her to shut up, as if she were some bar wench or brothel whore. As if she were a servant. The very thing he accused Elena of doing was the very thing he was guilty of himself.

She had nothing to say to him.

Elena was sitting in front of a locked chest with Zevran in front of her. She started to tell her what she found, but stopped short. The look he was giving her was all-consuming. She’d never seen him look at her like that before. Admiration and adoration, absolutely. But that look was something much more.

“I don’t think I can teach you anything else,” he mused as he pushed Elena’s hair back away from her face.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “So no more sneaking off for late night lessons and revealing Crow secrets?”

He rested his head against hers before he answered her. “I only told you what you need to know to become an assassin,” he reminded her. “And I was quite sure you weren’t getting any of it.”

She smiled. “I confess: I was only dragging it out so I could spend time with you,” she admitted quietly.

“We always spend time together.”

“Not like that.”

“So you’d rather I teach you how to effortlessly slit a man’s throat than make love to you,” the elf noted, closing his eyes. “Hmm. How very strange.”

“Is it?”

“It makes me wonder if that’s the reason we only sleep together when we’re in an actual bed.”

“I don’t even like _sleeping_ on the ground,” she explained, suddenly exasperated.

He chuckled. “It’s not so bad,” he assured her. “In fact it can be beautiful if it’s done right. And the way you howl, my dear...well. I know what we’re doing the next full moon.”

She smirked. “I am not howling for you during sex.”

He turned his head so he could kiss the top of her head. It was an uncharacteristically tender gesture. “I’ll settle for the usual snarling and biting then,” he said into her hair. “Which suddenly makes a lot of sense. And your obsession with being dominated.”

“This is why you can’t have nice things,” she accused, shoving him away from her.

“Not true,” he grinned. “I’ve a very nice thing. You can’t seem to get enough of it.”

Moment ruined.

She stood up, placing her hands on her hips. “You are impossible,” she glared, staring down at him.

“I know,” he confessed. His gaze eased back into that same tender look. “It’s part of my charm.”

“AHEM.”

Leliana looked back at Alistair, glaring death at him. She was sure she felt Elena and Zevran doing the same.

“I found your armor,” the prince announced, “and Leliana’s found some medical supplies and bandages. We should get you cleaned up and dressed before we do anything else.”

Leliana pulled out a canteen of water while Zevran helped Elena get undressed. She couldn’t help but wonder if Alistair interrupted them out of jealousy, or because he really was just a clueless idiot.


	15. Shake them off

They weren’t even three feet away from the store when they were attacked.

Slicing through villagers wasn’t part of the plan, but no one was complaining. They’d gotten the hint after finding the dead body in the back of the store. Wynne and Leliana stayed back, using ranged attacks to thin out the herd. The rest of them were just cutting down whoever got into their way.

The bard kept looking to Elena to see if she was OK, but Sten and Zev were taking good care of her. And, despite her anger, she still had Alistair’s back. She didn’t know if she was defending him out of habit or just because she still cared enough about him to do so, but she didn’t have time to question it. There were mages and reavers pouring towards them from places unknown. Relationships always took a back burner to survival.

“They’re protecting something,” Leliana said to Wynne as she cut down a reaver who came charging at them. “They wouldn’t be this aggressive if they weren’t.”

Sam and the wolf finished off the other two enemies who had been attacking Wynne. Leliana was grateful for the help. The fervor the villagers attacked them with wasn’t anything short of fanatic.

“Perhaps the Urn is real,” Wynne suggested, petting Sam on the head as he trotted up to her. “Thank you,” she said fondly. Sam barked happily in response.

“He’s quite taken with you,” Leliana noticed. Although there were no other villagers around, she still traded out her sword for her crossbow. She preferred it.

“Perhaps,” Wynne agreed, “but I’m not his mistress.”

The bard chuckled. “Dogs are allowed to like more than one person Wynne,” she assured her.

Wynne sighed. “I _know_.”

Elena placed a hand on the wolf’s head as she approached them, and the other one on Sam’s. “Good job boys.” They both seemed happy by the praise, however brief it was.

“We need to find out what’s going on here,” Alistair said.

“We need to find Genitivi,” Leliana countered with no small amount of ire in her voice.

“You’re both right,” Elena said, cutting off the argument that could have been. “So we’re going to split up. Alistair, you, Wynne and Sam investigate this village. Find out what they’re hiding, besides bodies and bloodlust. Leliana, Sten, Zevran, you’re coming with me. Back to the forest wolf. I’ll call you if I need you again.”

He immediately obeyed, taking off towards the trees.

Sam didn't like being left behind so much. He whined at Elena.

“You have to protect Wynne,” she explained softly. “We can’t lose her. I’ll never be able to explain that to Irving.” Wynne didn’t miss the affection or sincerity in her tone.

Sam whined again, but then barked twice. He understood.

She smiled. “Good, because I trust you. You may as well be my second in command. You’re the only one who doesn’t talk back when I give orders. Shut it Zev,” she warned before he could even open his mouth to say something. “I promise you can come with me next time,” she said to Sam.

He barked happily. He would hold her to that.

ANGELIC

There were more fanatics to cut down as they climbed the hill. Elena wasn’t comfortable with killing unarmed villagers, but they were savage in their relentlessness. One of them actually _bit_ her. As if she needed _more_ marks on her body.

At the top of the hill sat an old chantry. It looked like it had seen better days. They could hear a lone voice inside. Elena threw caution to the wind and kicked open the door. She was sick of this shit. She just wanted to find Genitivi and get the hell out of here. She’d been through _enough_.

There was an old man standing at the head of a crowd of people who seemed to be bowed in worship. They were staring at her with zero emotion. It would have been creepy if she weren’t pissed off already.

“Where’s Genitivi?” she demanded as she walked up to the old man. “And what the _hell_ is going on in this town?”

The old man smirked. “You see?” he said to the rest of the crowd. “This is why strangers aren’t allowed in Haven. They do not understand our ways.”

“You’re right,” she grimaced. “I’m still having a hard time grasping the concept of insanity. Think you can explain it to me?”

“We don’t owe you any explanations for our actions,” was his reply. “We have a sacred duty; failure to protect Her would be a greater sin. All will be forgiven.”

“Her?” Leliana repeated curiously.

Elena rolled her eyes. “I don’t speak insane religious zealot.”

The old man smirked. “Insanity is relative. Kill them.”

She was sick of carving her way through crazy people. Fortunately they’d gotten pretty efficient at it. Everyone was dead within five minutes, with the exception of the old man. Sten had him on the ground with his arms twisted behind his back at an unnatural angle.

Elena lifted his face up by using the toe of her boot to push up his chin. “Start talking,” Elena ordered, “or my very large friend here is going to tear your arms off.”

“You cannot threaten me,” he shouted at her. “This pain is nothing compared to what --”

Her face switched from annoyed to bored. “Sten.”  
The qunari started to pull. 

The sound of flesh tearing made Leliana’s stomach drop. She tried not to let it show on her face. She hoped he wouldn’t literally pull it off. She wasn’t sure she wanted to witness that.

Plus his scream was unbearable.

“Where is Brother Genitivi?” Elena asked the old man. “Tell me now and you might live.”

He could only respond with more screaming.

Leliana turned her head. She was starting to see blood.

“Maybe he could answer you if you stopped pulling,” Zev suggested nonchalantly.

“Maybe you’re right,” Elena agreed after a moment of thought. “Sten, hold on for a moment.”  
Sten lessened the strain on his arm but didn’t allow him to relax. 

“If he starts pulling again he’ll tear them both off,” Elena warned the man. “Now, where is Genitivi?”

“In the back,” he panted, his voice laced with pain. “He’s in the back! He and all other blasphemers like you will --”

“Sten.”

Leliana turned her head just as Sten ripped both of his arms off. Hearing flesh tear and bone crunch like that made bile rise in her throat. She wasn’t sure that was entirely necessary, but no one else was complaining about the barbarism. If she didn’t know any better she’d say they were enjoying it.

The only sliver of mercy he was provided was the fact that it didn’t take him long to bleed out and die.  

“There’d better not be anymore of these freaks,” Elena muttered as she kicked the old man’s body.

“These quiet, insular towns always hold secrets,” Zevran commented while he searched a nearby corpse for valuables. “I was hoping it involved being tied up with chains. Instead it’s a cult. Fate is so cruel.”

“Why are they so fanatic?” Leliana wanted to know.

“I don’t know,” Elena sighed, rubbing the sides of her temple with her fingers. “Nor do I care. I’m going to go check the back room. You three stay here.”

As soon as she was gone, Leliana ran over into a corner and vomited.

Sten smirked. That was why women couldn’t be warriors.

AND∙THEN∙MELTED∙DOWN 

The only thing of interest they found was a bloody alter.

Alistair couldn’t believe the amount of creepiness present in this town. How did they miss the existence of a town full of fanatical cult members?

Probably because the townspeople killed everyone considered a threat.

“I think we may have killed everyone in town,” he told Wynne as they exited the house. “Which is a shame, because now we’ll never know what’s really going on.”

The mage gave Alistair a look. “I don’t think you’re actually concerned about that.”

Alistair almost shrank back. He knew that tone. That was a mother’s tone. He didn’t like where this conversation was going. “What do you mean?”

“I think you know what I’m talking about Alistair.”

Oh. That.

“I know,” he admitted before she could pull it out of him. “It was wrong of me to talk to them like that. It was disrespectful. I wasn’t taught that way. I just...didn’t like the way they were talking about Cailan.”

Wynne wasn’t stupid. “You mean you don’t like that they were comparing you to him.”

“Well, yes, that too.” He sighed heavily. “I’m not him. I’m just me. Hearing her talk about him like that just reminded me of why he was king. And why I don’t want to be,” he mumbled.

Wynne leaned on her staff. She was a little tired of hearing Alistair whine about his lot in life. If she had the energy she’d give him a good smack upside the head with it.

“Elena wasn’t trying to insult you or Cailan’s memory, Alistair,” she explained slowly. “She was only saying that she admired him in more ways than one. And that you have those same qualities.”

“She said he was sexy,” he reminded her sourly. “And that she wanted to pounce on him the moment she saw him.”

“Most men would be flattered by that assessment.”

He tried to ignore his blushing. He supposed he was a little flattered, but that wasn’t the issue here. “She wants me to be him.”

Wynne shook her head. “That’s not what I heard. I heard that you’re every bit the man your brother was. Perhaps, in some ways, even better.”

“You got all of that out of her telling me I have smouldering eyes?”

“I know how to read between the lines,” she explained. “And I’m a woman. If I were her age I’d probably agree with her. Cailan did have quite a presence. And he was approachable. His men loved him. He gave them courage. He treated them like human beings. He talked with them, drank with them, asked after them. He’d rather be with them than be making plans with Loghain. He loved his people, and they loved him. An ideal situation for any prince to inherit.”

“I _don’t want to_ be king,” he said for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Wynne gave him a stern look. “You may not have a choice in the matter. Would you really leave Fereldan under the rule of the man who murdered your brother and your mentor?”

“No!”

“And do you think his daughter, Anora, is qualified to still be queen?” she asked.

Alistair was stubborn in his resolve. “Well she’s got more experience ruling a country than I do!”

“And she’s doing a bang up job so far,” Wynne replied dryly. “She can’t even stop her father from wreaking chaos and tearing Fereldan apart. We’re in the middle of a Blight and she’s allowing him to play with men’s lives as if they are nothing but toys.”

“Maybe she’s being held against her will?” He sounded exasperated. Wynne knew he was grasping at straws at this point.

“Alistair, you know what you have to do. You know what you need to do to set things right. You complained that Duncan only sent you to the tower to protect you because you were of royal blood. If that is true, will you let his sacrifice be for nothing?”

“I…” He paused, then shook his head. “No.”

“And if he were here now, do you think he’d approve of you shrinking back from your duty, both as a Grey Warden and as the only living heir to the throne?”

He swallowed hard. “No.”

“A Grey Warden must be willing to make the necessary sacrifices to protect all of humanity,” she reminded him. “You know that. You know you need a united Fereldan in order to fight the archdemon. You know you need to overthrow Loghain in order to do so. Will you keep sidestepping your duty, your honor, for your own comfort level?”

He remained silent.

“You complained to Elena that she wasn’t behaving the way she should. Perhaps you should take your own advice.” She paused to scratch Sam’s head. “It’ll be much easier for you to take the throne than it was for her to take control of this group. You won’t have to fight through an arrogant qunari, distrust from your teammates, hatred from a fellow Grey Warden, manipulation, misunderstanding, general apathy and mortal wounds to prove you’re worthy. You just need to sit in a chair.”

He winced. Ouch.

INTO∙A∙POOL∙OF∙PEACE

Leliana was sure they’d spend the better part of the day in the temple.

Brother Genitivi had been kind enough to guide them to the ruins. They used the key they found on Father Eirik’s body to enter it. Leliana couldn’t even look at him. She was trying to forget the sound of him dying.

Now they were traipsing through the deepest parts of the ruins proper and its caverns. They’d killed quite a few zealots, a dragon and a couple of drakes. Elena was especially keen on collecting and keeping the scales of the drakes.

“What are you going to do with them?” the elf asked her.

“I don’t know,” she admitted honestly. “Probably nothing. I just think they’re pretty.”

Leliana could _hear_ Sten roll his eyes. “We do not have room for all the things you keep picking up Warden,” the qunari chided.

“Is there some reason you don’t call her Elena?” the bard asked curiously. “You always call her everything but her name.”

“He’s probably still mad that I kissed him,” Elena chuckled.

Leliana had nearly forgotten about that. She laughed lightly. “I can see that,” she mused. “It was the only time I’ve ever seen him look something other than stern or infuriatingly smug.”

“Were we watching the same kiss?” Zevran asked. “Because all I saw was a very deep glower.”

“Maybe he was confused,” Leliana teased.

“Well it did seem like he had no idea what he was doing,” Zevran said thoughtfully. “He was sort of floundering around like a fish out of water.”

“Aww, Sten, was that your first kiss?” the bard asked playfully.

The qunari responded with an indignant glare. “Should I expect to be kissed in the middle of a battle?” he asked.

She giggled. “Sounds like a yes.”

“It was an unusual tactic,” Zevran admitted. “I am surprised you did not take it further. I have kissed her. I know why you felt confused my friend. All those emotions hitting you at once like an angry bull fresh out of the gate. It is hard for any man to handle.”

“ _Pashaara_ .” He was _surrounded_ by idiots. He expected this behavior out of the elf but not the bard.

“What was it like, Elena?” Leliana asked mischievously. “It did look rather awkward.”

“Yes,” Zev agreed, “for him at least.”

Elena was munching on an apple she pulled from her pack. She paused between bites to answer their question. “He’s got potential,” she admitted. “Nice lips. Execution could use a bit of work.”

Leliana just couldn’t hide her amusement. “Sounds like you rather enjoyed it.”

“Oh, I did,” Elena admitted with a grin. “I’d happily do it again if I got the opportunity. He kisses like he fights: strong, straightforward and merciless. It’s rather sexy.”

Sten remained silent. The fact that she just compared kissing him to his fighting style made his head hurt. She kissed like she fought too: calculating, wild, thorough. Wasn’t that normal? How else was one supposed to kiss? He could not imagine her initiating a gesture that was delicate and tender. She wasn’t even that kind of person. How could she express herself in a way she never knew or experienced before?

Humans were so stupid.  

Leliana turned her attention to the elf, who was digging through Elena’s pack for a piece of fruit. “Aren’t you jealous Zevran?” she asked.

He pulled out a plum and bit into it. “Should I be?” he asked as he tossed the pack at the bard.

She caught it and began going through it herself. She pulled out an orange and tossed the pack to Sten. “I don’t know,” she admitted as she began peeling her fruit. “She did have a crush on Sten before you showed up.”

Sten noticed Elena flush gloriously, but remain silent.

“Crush?” the qunari repeated, blinking. He only knew one meaning for that word. “She wanted to smash me?”

“No!” Leliana laughed, dropping her peelings on the ground. “She liked you Sten. From the look on her face I think she still does.”

He looked over at her, but all he saw was her face turning a brilliant shade of pink. She _liked_ him?  Is that why she kissed him?

This was all so very strange.

“If that’s true, then I may have some competition,” the elf teased. It was mostly to irk Elena, but Sten didn’t pick up on that.

“There is no competition, elf,” he said matter-of-factly. “Qunari do not have sex, except for the sole purpose of having children.”

Zevran’s frown said he disapproved. “No wonder you’re all so dour.”

On the other hand, Leliana seemed surprised by Sten’s confession. “You mean you’ve never had sex for pleasure?”

“What would be the point?” Sten wanted to know.

“Um...pleasure?”

“Leliana, you cannot explain it to him,” Zevran chided lightly. “It’s something he’ll have to experience himself before he understands it.”

“I don’t need to experience it,” Sten countered. “It is unnecessary.”

“Perhaps you should spend the night with our dear Warden,” the elf suggested mischievously. “She can show you why it’s quite necessary.”

“Her constant need to be alone with you is one of the reasons she appears so weak,” Sten told the elf. “She would often neglect her responsibilities in favor of having sex with you. Should I be the reason she continues to shirk her duties?”

Zevran laughed. “We have had sex all of three times since we’ve been together,” he confessed. “All those times we snuck away from camp was not for sex. I was _training_ her.”

“You mean you were teaching her to fight?” Leliana interpreted.

He nodded. “Yes. And more recently, some well-kept Crow secrets. She would never have beat Sten otherwise. She was pathetic when I first fought her. The only reason she didn’t die is because she ruthlessly took advantage of an opening she perceived that I did not. In hindsight, I should have seen that coming.”

“Sounds familiar,” Sten grunted. She had done the same thing to him, after all.

“But nevermind that,” the elf went on. “I did not know she was a ranger! She kept that hidden from me, and I’m her teacher. But I did teach her to always keep an ace up her sleeve. She didn’t disappoint. But then again, she never does.” He winked at Leliana knowingly.

“You’re terrible,” the bard said, but there was a twinge of fondness in her voice. Just a touch. Of course, then Zevran ruined it by teasing her about the vision she claimed she received from the Maker.

Elena remained silent, eating her apple as if she couldn’t hear any of it. Sten thought perhaps he ought to do the same. The elf talked too much.

He found a piece of cake in her bag wrapped in a napkin. There was fruit too, but the qunari was more interested in the cake. It smelled like sweet lemons. He wanted it. But maybe she was saving it for later. He didn’t want to steal it. That would be wrong. Still...

“Where did you get this cake?” he asked.

“From dinner last night,” she answered without looking back at him. “Wynne made lemon cake in a skillet for dessert, but Sam got to it first. I managed to save a slice. Eat it if you want,” she permitted.

Yes. Cake.

Score.  
  
He tried not to look happy as he ate it.


	16. Duck everybody

Zevran was regaling his companions with the tale of how Elena walked through a wall of fire naked in order to reach Andraste’s ashes. She was naked, not to prove her faith (she didn’t have any) but because her underclothes had been completely ruined in her fight with Sten. They were soaked with blood from her wounds. She shimmied out of them and left them on the floor of the shop. They were probably still there.

Now she had nothing to sleep in but armor. She didn’t relish sleeping in her armor or sleeping naked. She had no idea what she was going to do.

She did still have that shirt Alistair gave her.

She frowned. She should burn it but she really didn’t have a choice. She needed _something_ to sleep in and…

...Wait.

She stood up and walked away from the fire to go find Zevran’s pack. He had to have something she could put on. He was about as big as she was - which wasn’t saying much. But she’d settle for a shirt or something. _Anything_.

Perfect.

She pulled out what looked like a woman’s dress. She didn’t even want to know what the hell he had been saving it for. The thought of him prancing around in it somehow disturbed her. Probably because _she could picture him doing it_.

It was a beautiful deep forest green. There was a gold pattern that made up the sleeves and evened out the dress around the collar and the bottom. The shoulders were nonexistent. The sleeves were dramatically flared. There was a corset made into the center. It was very pretty, but it looked sort of short. Knowing him he probably got it from a prostitute.

But it would have to do.

She folded it up, gathered her towels and some soap, and headed off to the lake. She couldn’t wait to get the smell of sweat, blood and entrails off of her.

Especially the entrails.

She waded into the lake until the water was up to her shoulders. It was cold, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was getting the filth and grime of the day off of her. That temple had been hell. The _day_ had been hell. She felt like everything had been coming at her from all sides, crashing against her, trying to break her. She didn’t know how she made it without giving in and breaking down.

After a vigorous, brutal scrub, she climbed out onto the shore and grabbed her towel to dry herself off. She smelled rain. She saw lightning flashing in the distance. They’d have to huddle into their tents tonight and hope they weren’t attacked. It wasn’t feasible to sit out in the rain keeping watch, although she was sure Sten would disagree with her.

Sten.

She didn’t want to think about him right now.

She oiled herself down and shimmied into the dress she stole from Zevran. It was _snug_. She could barely pull the strings of the corset tight enough to tie them. Suddenly she was breathing up and down, not in and out. Good thing she was used to wearing ridiculous clothes.

It stopped just above her knees. She should have brought a pair of pants with her but it was too late now. It wasn’t like they’d never seen her legs before anyway. She just felt self-conscious, especially since Leliana and Zev made it a point to tease her practically nonstop about her crush on Sten and kissing him. She could just imagine the wretched comments they’d make when they saw her in this thing.

Bah. She was only going to wear it overnight. In the morning she’d crawl back into her armor.

Fortunately she wouldn’t have to sit back at the fire. Her companions noticed the storm steadily rolling towards them. They had begun putting up their tents. Alistair was showing them how to shore them up and nail them down so that they wouldn’t blow up or away in the storm. Both she and the bard had been avoiding him like the plague since they got back, but Leliana had the good sense to put her feelings aside for a few minutes. She didn’t want to wind up sleeping in the rain.

“In all actuality, we should be doubling up,” the prince said matter-of-factly as she slowly approached them. She stopped to put her things in her pack, so she missed the next part, but she did hear the last of it. “Plus it’ll help you stay warm.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Morrigan said. “No offense to any of you, but I’d rather be alone tonight.” Her voice was far less emotional than Elena expected it to be. Perhaps the grimoire humbled her more than she thought it would.

“Trust me Morrigan, no one is offended by that,” Alistair assured her.

“I’ll bunk with Wynne,” Leliana offered. Sam barked at her, forcing her to smile. “And you too Sam.”

“Right. So I guess I’m with Sten, if he doesn’t mind.”

“If you must,” was his response.

“Please, try not to get too excited. And that leaves Elena and Zevran. If I can hear you over the storm, I’m kicking your tent over.”

Elena couldn’t stop herself from responding to him. “And then I’ll kick _you_ over.”

“Mmm, yes.” Alistair rolled his eyes. “Glad we had this little chat.” It was just a _joke_ but apparently she was just going to hold a grudge forever.

“You should have seen that coming,” Zevran said to him.

“I _should_ get points for trying,” was the prince’s response.

“You _should_ get kicked down the mountain by an angry goat and hit every tree and rock on the way down,” Elena retorted.

“What a delightful image,” Morrigan mused. “I shall enjoy dreaming about that tonight.”

“You would,” Alistair muttered. “Anyway, let’s finish this off before the storm comes in. Sten, will you help me?”

“If I must,” the qunari said again with just as much emotion as the first time.

Elena snorted.

The wind was picking up, which put some urgency in their preparations. Alistair even helped make sure that Sandal and Bodahn would be secure enough in their own tent. He put them right among the rest of their tents, which were close together. He said it would help them stand against the wind.

Elena didn’t know how true that was, but she didn’t care either. She left to get her pack and put it in Zevran’s tent. She made it just before the rain started pouring down.

Everyone hurried into their tents as quickly as possible. She could see lights coming on as her companions searched for things, fretted and tried to brace themselves for the worst.

She loved the rain. She loved thunderstorms. And since they had used her tent to cover the floor of Zevran’s as an added layer of protection, she doubted she’d actually get wet. This would be fun.

She turned to ask the elf what he wanted to do, but stopped short. He was staring at her  as if he’d seen a ghost. He was _unnerved_. “Are you OK, Zev?” she asked gently.

“Where did you get that dress?” he countered. His eyes were wide with... _something_. She couldn’t place her finger on it but it was scaring her.

“Your pack,” she answered. “I didn’t have anything else to wear. I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Mind?” He said it like he was being trained to repeat it. His voice was eerily hoarse.  

Something _was_ wrong. “Should I take it off?” She started reaching for the strings on her corset. She suddenly felt like she was wearing another person’s skin.

He blinked again then shook his head, as if he were coming out of a trance. “No. No, of course not.”

“...I’m taking it off,” she insisted. She didn’t know what was going on and she didn’t want to know. She started unfastening the corset.

“Don’t, Elena.” He snatched her hand away from the corset with an urgency she’d never seen before. “Don’t,” he said again, his tone quiet. “Keep it on.” He swallowed hard. “It...you look...beautiful in it.”

She didn’t doubt that last part, but the suddenly wistful and pained look in his eyes let on more than he knew. She pulled away from him.

“Who was she?” she wanted to know.

He started to dodge the question and play it off, but he didn’t have it in him. Seeing her in it brought it all back. The Guardian’s question had been the beginning. Seeing her in the dress was the catalyst.

“Her name was Rinna,” he said softly. “She was...the reason I came looking for you.”

She didn’t like where this was going. “I thought you came looking for me to kill me.”

His smile was painful. “No. I actually came looking for you hoping you’d kill me.” Without her asking, he launched into the story of Rinna.

She’d never seen him like this before. Every sentence he spoke was like opening a new wound. The regret, the sudden realization his life was worthless, meaningless, the guilt from the fact that he was directly responsible for her death - it had all been eating him up inside. Even though he hadn’t wielded the weapon that killed her, he may as well have.

And she was wearing her dress.

She suddenly felt overwhelmingly disgusting.  

“Where did you get it?” she wanted to know.

“I found it while I was packing for this trip,” he admitted solemnly. “She was wearing it the last time we…” His smile was hollow. “I didn’t know she’d left it.”

She wanted to come out of it _now_.

She felt her fingers raking across the strings of the corset. They were so frantic she couldn’t even get a hold on them. She couldn’t even look at them. She couldn’t even look at _him_.

She couldn’t breathe.

She suddenly felt so small. Small and insignificant. He said he had a museum of lovers, but now she knew she’d be nowhere on display. She was his death wish. 

She was vaguely aware of him calling her name but she ignored him. The strings wouldn’t come undone. The damn thing wouldn’t come off. It was bound to her like rope. No matter how hard she pulled it remained. Each yank and tug only made it tighter.

Where was her knife?

She pulled it out of her pack and just started _slicing_. She was going to get it off of her one way or another.

CEASE∙TO∙BE∙THE∙ANIMAL

Zevran snatched the knife out of her hand and tossed it across the tent. “Elena stop it!” he ordered.

“Why??” she hissed, finally raising her eyes to look at him. “So I won’t ruin her precious dress?”

He tried to ignore the pain in her eyes. He was already racked with enough guilt. He didn’t need to add her feelings to that.

“You’re _bleeding_!” he exclaimed indignantly, holding up her wrists so she could look  at them. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself!”

“I want it off!” she snarled, snatching away from him. “ _Now_!”

“ _Why_?” he wanted to know. “It’s just a dress!” He didn’t believe that. He didn’t even know why he said it. It was such a pretty lie, but it masked an ugly truth.

“It is _not_ just a dress!” she screamed. “It’s _her_ dress! And you were looking at me like I was her!”

He wouldn’t deny that. When he saw it on her all those memories came flooding back, including the last moments she was in them.

The thunder was loud. The wind was louder. He was surprised no one had told them to shut up. Maybe they couldn’t hear how loud she was sobbing over the storm.

It had been a long, long time since he’d made a woman cry. Perhaps not too long ago if he counted the look in Rinna’s eyes as she died. But she couldn’t verbalize the pain, the heartache, the betrayal she felt. Elena could.

The way she sounded was exactly the way Zevran imagined Rinna would have if she could have cried. It was haunting. It made him sick. He felt his dinner rise in his throat, but no, he had to keep it down. If he didn’t, if he went outside, he didn’t know that he would come back.

He closed his eyes. To him, her sobs were much louder than anything nature was throwing at them right now. Maybe he deserved this. It was unfair of him to think that he could just switch gears when his original plan failed. It was unfair of him to think that this wouldn’t get complicated.

It had been so nice. He’d almost forgotten about Rinna, until the damn Guardian in the temple brought her up. He was willing to forget about her again, to bury her, but then he saw her. Not just in the dress, but in her eyes. In the soft lines of concern that tugged at her lips. In her tears when she realized what she had done. In the way she looked at him when she realized she had been betrayed.

“I want it _off_ ,” she said again. Her eyes were red from crying so hard. She was still pulling it at but it wouldn’t budge. It was punishing her as much as it was punishing him.

_She_ was punishing him.

He deserved it.

He reached for her, running his hands along the damned fabric. It felt just the same, despite the damage. It smelled the same too. Like scented candles and sin. Like her.

“All right,” he said softly, grabbing her by her shoulders. He couldn’t even look at her. He lowered his eyes and his lips to the crook of her neck. “All right. Let’s...get you out of this dress.”

She was not elven. This dress had been made for someone who was petite. Elena was small, for a human, but not made for this dress. She was much too curvy. Or perhaps the panic of the situation was making the fabric shrink. It certainly seemed intent on torturing both of them.

His fingers were unusually gentle with the fastenings of the corset. They were fragile. The entire situation was fragile. She had gotten them tangled in a frantic effort to unfasten them. It didn’t take him long to undo the knots she had created.

The red of her blood made the green in the dress a darker, less forgiving shade. He reached for the bottom of the dress, pausing to finger the lace designs. They were soft and mocking, _teasing_ him. He pulled it up over her head slowly, minding her injuries. He had done this to Rinna, taken it off of her just like this. It had been so long ago, but the memory seemed as vivid as this moment right now.

“OK,” he whispered, dropping it to the ground. It made such an alluring sound as it pooled next to her. He swallowed hard. “It’s off,” he assured her. “It’s gone.”

“I trusted you.” She was so hurt. He could hear it mercilessly knocking around in her words.

He rested his head against hers and closed his eyes. “I know.”

“You used me.”

“I did.”

“Was any of it real?” The combination of tears and emotions were thickening up her voice. She was going to start crying again.

He chose that moment to finally open his eyes and look at her. He may as well be honest with her. She deserved that much, at least. “Yes.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

He kissed her before she could protest. It was so melancholy, but he didn’t pull away. He savored it. He savored everything about it: the feel of her hair slipping through his fingers, the taste of her tears mixing with his desperation, the undeniable passion of the moment. She was angry, he was sorry, but neither of them were ready to give up or let go.

The sounds of the storms were nothing compared to the sounds of their lovemaking. It wasn’t loud, but it was the only thing they heard and the only thing that mattered. There was nothing rough about it. Anger melted away to sympathy, then empathy, then apologies; all of them were messages written on their nerves and skin with fingers, tongues and lips.

Afterward they lay together, listening to the fury of the storm.

“All of it?” she asked after a time.

He was holding her against him, running his fingers through her hair. He had wanted one of them to speak but he wasn’t sure what to say. A verbal apology would seem so cheap now. It would break this fragile moment, and he didn’t want it destroyed. He was glad she broached the topic.

“All of it,” he reassured her.

“Even the part where you called me Rinna as you came?”

...Oh shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hit a wall. Idk what I'm going to do.
> 
> Maybe I need to replay the game and see if I can think of a direction to go in.


	17. You're gonna take them again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back babeh! 
> 
> I finally figured out which direction I want to take this story in. With that in mind, I'm going to tell you right now: this is about to get [b]fucked up[/b]. 
> 
> You've been warned. 
> 
> Also, ignore the spacing. I type these up in Google Docs and my double spacing on there winds up being triple spacing on here. I got tired of running through the fic trying to correct it when I post here.
> 
> Sue me.

She was up early.

 

It was dawn. The ground was muddy and covered with debris from the storm, but their tents were no worse for wear.

 

Everyone had survived the night. Alistair got up early to assess the damage around camp, fix what he could and go fishing for breakfast. He wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up this early.

 

But there was Leliana washing something at the edge of the lake. He didn’t try to hide his approach. He didn’t want to startle her.

 

“Did you sleep OK?” he asked timidly. He knew she was still mad at him but maybe he could get in an opening to apologize to her.

 

She didn’t even look at him. “Shh!”

 

Alistair blinked in confusion. “No one can hear us, if that’s what you mean.”

 

“But if you keep talking, I can’t hear  _ them _ .” 

 

She nodded off in the distance. A few feet away Sten and Elena were in the lake fishing. But they weren’t using poles. They were catching them with their bare hands. Or rather, Sten was. Elena was clearly still learning, but she had caught two or three.

 

“Concentrate,” Sten scolded the Warden. “You are much faster than that. You should not easily be bested by a fish.”

 

“And you should not easily be bested by a child,” she retorted. 

 

“ _ Pashaara, imekari _ ,” the qunari responded sternly. “Concentrate.”

 

She sighed heavily. “What is the point of this anyway?” she wanted to know.

 

“It’s a training exercise,” he responded. “Now stop talking and concentrate.” 

 

“A training exercise?” Alistair repeated, keeping his voice low. “I thought she’d gotten enough training from Zevran.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with a learning something new,” Leliana replied lightly. She pulled the garment she was washing out of the water and studied it. “Well, the blood’s gone. Now I just need to mend it. The damage doesn’t look too bad.”

 

Alistair stared at it. It looked like it’d been through a war. “Isn’t that the dress Elena had on last night?” he asked. “What happened to it? ...No wait. That’s OK,” he assured her. “Don’t tell me. The less I know, the better.” 

 

“I wouldn’t have told you anyway.”

 

He felt like she’d slapped him.

 

He recovered rather gracefully though, all things considered. And since he had her here, he might as well apologize.

 

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that yesterday,” he said sincerely. “I’m truly sorry. There is never an excuse to talk to a lady that way, especially after all you’ve done for me.”

 

She glanced at him. The sewing needle between her lips was catching the first light of the sun’s rays as they peeked over the horizon. Her eyes, skin and hair were littered with dew. She had to have been up and out for a while to have gathered that much moisture on her, but he didn’t care about that. She looked amazing, like some woodland goddess who’d gotten caught doing something menial. But instead of scolding him for interrupting her she just went right back to work.

 

“Are you waiting for a reaction?” she asked, destroying his moment of admiration. “Because I don’t think you merit one.”

 

Alistair had to find himself rather quickly. “No. Right. Sorry,” he apologized. “I’ll just...go start the fire for breakfast.” He tried not to kill himself while hurrying back to camp.

 

At least he apologized. He would just back off and give her space until he was sure it was safe to try again. Now he just had one more to do: Elena.

 

He was not looking forward to that.

 

YOU∙USED∙TO∙BE

 

Sten kept sneaking glances at the Warden as they traveled along the road. There was something different about her. She had been relatively quiet all day. 

 

That was not like her. She was usually laughing, flirting and plotting with the elf. While Zevran had not left her side, something had shifted between them. 

 

Or perhaps it was his imagination. 

 

Zevran was fine. He was going back and forth with Wynne about her bosom (how disgusting), teasing Leliana and trying to get a rise out of Alistair and Morrigan. This was his usual behavior. But whenever he threw a line or a question at Elena, she only had one syllable answers for him.

 

So maybe it wasn’t him that had changed. Maybe it was just her.

 

She seemed  _ resigned _ .

 

That was good. She would no longer try to fight against who she was. He would silently take responsibility for that. 

 

That morning she came out of the tent, fully dressed in her armor. He and Leliana were surprised to see her. They were doing the last shift of night watch, and Elena was almost always the last one to get up. Today she was the first. 

 

She walked over to them with a ruined garment in her hand. It was a pretty, deep green color he’d only ever seen in the jungle back home, trimmed in gold. There were blood stains and cuts in it. She asked the bard to mend it. She asked Sten to teach her how to duck.

 

He was happy to oblige.

 

She’d done well enough at their fishing lesson. When they were finished he explained that if she wanted to learn to duck, she had to have quicker reflexes. She wasn’t slow by any means, but for someone so lithe, she should be quicker. 

 

Well, she wasn’t really lithe was she? 

 

She was certainly bigger than her lover, who was the very definition of lithe. But she wasn’t fat. She had a warrior’s body, but a lot more curves. And not just in her muscles.

 

_ Vashaadan _ . He didn’t know the word or phrase he was looking for in either language. He wasn’t sure there was a word for her in Qunlet. She was a woman warrior, and in his culture that was impossible. He would have to find some other way to describe her. 

 

All in all, though, it was nice that she was taking herself seriously. Perhaps they would stop wasting time now and start focusing on finding the archdemon and killing it. 

 

REMOVE∙THE∙BROKEN∙PARTS

 

Sten had been right all along. Zevran was a hell of an actor.

 

She was impressed by the fact that he could act like none of last night ever happened. He was his usual carefree self: making snide comments, flirting, teasing, trying to get a rise out of them. He even included her, so that none of them would suspect something was wrong.

 

But she wouldn’t play along.

 

She didn’t even know how to broach the topic. She felt betrayed. So she just stayed silent and focused on the road.

 

Fortunately they slept in separate tents when on the road (with the exception of last night), so them not being together wouldn’t be an issue. She had Sten continuing her lessons so she could fill her time with that. She had excuses all planned out for any odd behavior she may slip into. She should last until she got to Redcliff, at least. Then she’d figure out her next step.

 

That night, she and Sten took first watch. 

 

The qunari looked every bit a demon in the campfire light. But he no longer scared her. She’d bested him, and now he respected her. She was sure he’d try it again if she gave him a reason, which was why she was asking him to train her. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.

 

“Why do you keep staring at me like that?” he wanted to know.

 

She answered him immediately. “Does it bother you?”

 

“Would it not bother you?”

 

“No,” she admitted honestly. “Alistair and Leliana stare at me all the time. I just ignore it.”

 

“But why do  _ you _ do it to  _ me _ ?” he asked again.

 

She shrugged. “I think you’re attractive.” 

 

She hadn’t meant to say that, but it was out there now. She wasn’t going to take it back. She was feeling oddly fearless around him. It may have had something to do with the fact that she had no problem decapitating him if he gave her a reason. 

 

Besides, it’s not like either of them could or  _ would _ do anything about it. He was absolutely clueless and completely uninterested. She was brokenhearted. It wasn’t about to happen. 

 

Sten waited a long time before answering her. “...Why.”

 

“Does it matter?” 

 

“I suppose not.” 

 

She swore she heard a twinge of disappointment in his voice, but she wasn’t in the mood to revisit the subject. 

 

She reached into her bag and pulled out some sweet bread Lynne had made for dessert. “Here,” she offered, passing him half. “I saved this for us.”

 

“Thank you.” 

 

He devoured it before she was even a fourth of the way into hers. He really liked sweets. It was kind of cute, actually.

 

“Tell me about your home,” she requested. “What’s it like?”

 

“Warmer than it is here.” Sten promptly launched into an explanation of his homeland. It was pretty short, since he wasn’t really into lengthy explanations. His words were practical, but his tone was passionate. She could tell he really missed it.

 

“Why can’t you go back?” she asked.

 

He explained to her what losing his sword meant: dishonor and death upon his return.

 

“Didn’t you try to look for it?”

 

“If I knew where to look this would not be an issue,” he replied logically.

 

She decided to ignore the way he said it. He had such a condescending tone. She wondered if that’s what Alistair was referring to when he said she talked down to them. It didn’t exactly feel nice, especially coming from a mass murderer. But she wouldn’t go there. 

 

“Well where was the last place you had it.”

 

“We were attacked near Lake Calenhad.”

 

“That’s only a day’s journey from Redcliffe,” she noted. “We can go search for it after we get the ashes to Arl Eamon.” 

 

“I do not expect you to,” Sten admitted, “nor do I expect anything to come of this. But thank you.”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

She finished her sweet bread in silence. Perhaps it was a waste of time and far out of the way of gathering allies, but so far nearly everything had been. She owed him nothing, especially since he tried to kill her. But he wanted to go home. At least one of them should be able to.

 

“I have a question,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

 

“I am hardly surprised.” 

 

There was that air of contempt and superiority lacing his tone, as if he somehow  _ knew _ the human race was beneath him.

 

They had that in common. 

 

“Will you teach me your language?”

 

He seemed surprised, although it could have been the firelight flickering across his hard features. “Why.”

 

“You’re learning mine,” she said logically. “Shouldn’t I learn yours?”

 

He couldn’t refute that logic, though he had to wonder at what point she’d use his language. Just to talk to him? That might be nice. “You will be unlikely to master it,” he warned. 

 

“You said that about me beating you,” she smirked. 

 

“True. Very well  _ imekari _ . I shall attempt to teach you.”

 

_ Attempt? _ She frowned. “You don’t have much faith in me, do you?”

 

“You are human,” he reminded her. “Simple. Limited. You are capable of some remarkable things, but so far, you are the epitome of your species.”

 

She sighed. “You have got to stop doing that Sten.”

 

“Doing what?”

 

“Insulting humanity every 45 seconds.”

 

“It is not an insult if it is true,” he reminded her, “and I hardly do it often. Besides, yours is not the only race with flaws.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “That makes me feel better. Why did I let you out of that cage again?”

 

“I often wonder that myself,” he admitted honestly.  

 

She shook her head. “Sometimes I just don’t understand you Sten.”

 

“What is there to understand?” he wanted to know. “I’m a simple creature: I like swords, I follow orders. There is nothing else to me.”

 

She disagreed. “That’s not true. There’s a lot more to you than that.”

 

“Will you insist until I make it so?”

 

She sighed. “No. I’m convinced that the only thing that’s going to make you like me is if I turned into a qunari woman and gave you and your sword a hand job at the same time. And since that’s not about to happen, I’ll just accept the fact that you hate me. But at least you follow orders.”

 

“I am a soldier,” Sten replied matter-of-factly. “That is my job.”

 

Pause.

 

“...What is a hand job?”

 

She facepalmed. “No. We are not having that conversation. Forget I even brought it up.”

 

YOU∙KNOW∙WERE∙WRONG

 

They were only a day away from Redcliffe when she made her next request of him. 

 

“Teach me to meditate,” she said to him. 

 

Sten opened one eye and peered at her. She had been asking him to teach her a lot of things lately. He was already teaching her Qunlet and how to better her reflexes. Now she wanted to learn how to meditate.

 

He wondered if she was just pretending to be interested in him so he would like her. 

 

It seemed to be a point of contention that he didn’t reciprocate her feelings. She hadn’t really said anything about it since they had taken first watch at the campfire last night. He still didn’t know what a hand job was, but more importantly than that, she was  _ moody _ . 

 

Not the snappish way she had been, but in a dour, silent, brooding way. It was as if she suddenly developed a distaste for everything in the general vicinity of her. 

 

She had been quiet too. No matter how much banter was going on between their teammates, she remained utterly silent. She usually told them to shut up but she had taken to walking and staring straight ahead. Occasionally he would hear her repeat some words he taught her, but mostly she was not herself.

 

Sten thought it was a good thing, even if it was temporary.

 

And he wasn’t about to fall for her womanly wiles. 

 

But there was no harm in indulging her a little.

 

“Why?” he wanted to know.

 

“I assume that you meditating is one of the things that stops you from killing everyone in the general vicinity on a whim,” she said, sitting down next to him. “I have emotional problems. I want to get rid of them. Teach me.”

 

If at all possible, his mind would have been blown by that confession.

 

Not because she (more or less) nailed the reason he meditated, but because she admitted she had a serious flaw and she wanted to fix it.

 

Maybe the child was growing up. 

 

He nodded his consent. “Very well.”

 

Who was he to stand in her way?

  
Little did he know, he had it all wrong. She wasn’t trying to grow up or get her emotions under control. She was trying to  _ bury _ them.


End file.
